A Tangled Web
by Amazon Wolf
Summary: Gotham is a web, interconnected from every corner, from the poor to the rich. If Crane wants out of Arkham...he's going to have to make a choice: make his own connections, or break out himself? Sequel to Mind of a Scarecrow
1. Arkham

"Stand by!"

A buzz resonated through the room, the sound like a nest of hornets stirred up by an errant stone. The hunched figure of a man looked up when the locks of the massive steel cell door clattered open, one after the other after the other, the same repetitive pattern he had to listen to every day…

_Buzzing._

_Lock one…click_

_Pause._

_Lock two…click_

_Lock three…click_

_Pause._

_Lock four, aaaand…_

The door swung open on cue and the man gave a gentle laugh.

"Lunch," the guard growled, extending a food tray consisting of stale bread, some peas, and mashed potatoes smothered in gravy…or dog food. The platter rattled as it fell atop the man's lap, and the guard snorted in disgust. "Enjoy."

"You're late."

"I ain't late."

Twin blue eyes gazed up at the guard, the color of glacial water…ice…blue diamonds. Their beauty was marred by the ever present shadows darkening his eyes, and the cold cruelty that radiated from the very pits of those soulless orbs.

"Two minutes, forty-eight seconds."

"That ain't late, you idiot," the guard replied brashly, pointing a stubby finger at the food. "An' if you wanna keep complainin', I can just take that stuff away from ya, and you won't have anything to eat at all!"

The eyes searched the guard's face, studying everything from the scruffy goatee to the unshaven stubble to the worn, tired look in his face. "Grant…you look like hell," the hunched man spoke in a quiet tone, a mixture of a hiss and a whisper, like a child telling a juicy secret. The guard rolled his eyes and turned without another word, swearing profusely beneath his breath.

"You said the same last time. I know I look like hell. I have you nutjobs to thank for that," he snapped, turning back to face the man and unlocking his restraints.

"We just love your company."

"Yeah, I'm sure you do." Grant pointed to the food. "Eat, I'll be back in half an hour."

The man said nothing, only watched with the same freezing glare he held for any human that entered his domain. The cell door slammed with a thunderous _CLANG!_

He sat in the silence, looking down at his hands, obscured by the extra long sleeves of the straightjacket. Tentative fingers, skeletal and white, worked through the fabric, gripping the piece of stale bread and bringing it up to his trembling lips.

He never desired food when he was in his right mind. He would go days without a solid meal, relying on power bars and salads to aide in satisfying the growl in his stomach.

But after he lost it all…all the self-deprivation he thought made him a better, more focused man seemed trivial. Useless. After all, he was…human.

The man dove into the hard piece of bread, setting on it hungrily like an unfed dog. He didn't bother with utensils now, not caring when he used his covered hands to shovel food in his mouth. His eyes closed, a euphoric feeling of content filling his belly and his mind.

People would walk through the halls and see him through the small window, they'd see a broken man, a useless lump of flesh and muscles and bones, a mind shattered by the grip of insanity. They saw a monster, unabashed by his own ideals, his uncaring for anyone or anything.

The man stopped midway through his mad feeding frenzy and snapped his head up, his eyes focused on the rectangular window on the door. A familiar set of eyes stared back. They were darker blue than his own, staring at him with a hatred expected from this man. He was the new DA of Gotham. He was a man who hated anyone in the city who did anything remotely illegal. He was Harvey Dent.

And Harvey Dent hated Jonathan Crane the most, because it was _he_ who put Rachel Dawes into Arkham.

Crane's lips turned up in a satisfied, if not smug, little grin. He held up a hand and waggled his fingers in a mocking wave. The eyes narrowed with more animosity and soon disappeared from sight. Jonathan watched the empty window and gave a nod, slow, still smiling.

"Right on time as usual, Mr. Dent," he said quietly before picking up his fork and placing it to his lips, finishing his meal in a more restrained way than earlier.

----------------------------------

"I don't know why they have to feed the guy," Harvey snapped, kicking his feet up onto his desk and staring at Lieutenant Gordon. "He doesn't deserve a meal. And if he does, it should be one of those last meal deals."

Gordon didn't reply, but gave a shrug of agreement. "Hey, I hate the fact he's getting off the hook for hurting your friend. She was a good attorney."

"The hell she was. She was a good kid. Wish she was still around," the younger man sighed, rubbing a hand over his weary face. Handsome, with warm features and wavy brown hair kept out of his eyes and neatly fixed on his head. His eyes were deep, like the dark recesses of the ocean, and held a maturity, as well as a childish playfulness. "What do you got for me, Jimbo?" He asked with a grin.

Gordon sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. The nickname the young man gave him stuck, and he always felt foolish when he was called that. The older officer placed a file on the man's desk. "Not much. So far it's 3 more dead. We have all the best officers out in the field looking for him. But he's covered his tracks."

"Not well, either." Dent flipped open the folder and stared. Four playing cards, face up. Each bearing the emblem of the "Joker". "So…he's got a name, according to the media. Joker. How original."

"I've heard worse."

"And this guy kills people with…laughter?"

The lieutenant nodded again. "Not the most conventional way…"

"Well it gives me the creeps." Harvey pushed the cards aside to look at the photos beneath. Three people, two young men and one woman, all grinning manic smiles at the camera, eyes wide and staring, as if looking straight at Harvey himself.

"And…no one can find him?"

"Not even Batman." Gordon flinched as Harvey gave a short, loud laugh.

"The batman…right. He's too busy playing dress up and flying around the city to be of any help."

"He's brought in a lot of criminals Harvey. A lot more than we can bring in alone." He hesitated a moment before adding, "He brought in Crane."

This sent the younger man into a broody silence before he moved to shove the file in his desk. "Until he turns to the dark side, helping those he promised to stop…until then, I'll take your word for it, Gordon. Thanks for the help."

Gordon nodded and turned to leave, but not before throwing a glance at Harvey over his shoulder. "Hey, Harvey, don't…don't get too wrapped up in this stuff, okay? I'd hate to see you run yourself to the ground."

Harvey leaned back into his chair, waving the lieutenant off. "Don't worry about me, Jimbo. I'm a big boy. Besides, I go it all under control." He watched as the older man disappeared and waited, his eyes focused on the door. He expected Rachel to waltz by, adding on to Gordon's words of caution. He had gone to see how she was progressing at the asylum. According to them, she was getting worse. Watching her rock on the floor, her eyes wide and filled with never-ending terror, sent an angry thrill through his body. The monster who did that to her was just down the corridor, stuffing his face with food.

That's why Harvey took up the job of DA. He wouldn't let people like Crane destroy anyone else.

With that, he pulled out a coin, a silver dollar he kept in his pocket, and flipped it with a rhythmic _ping_ in the air. It calmed him. It helped him think.

Furthermore, it got his mind off of Crane and back on the file he needed to work on for his next court case.

* * *

**Author's Note: Hey guys! Back again with the sequel to 'Mind of a Scarecrow'. I hope you guys enjoy this story, as I really have no idea where it's gonna go, so it'll be a surprise for us all ;) It's gonna have Scarecrow, Harvey, maybe a little Joker.  
**

**Enjoy the story, and tell me what you think! I love to hear your guys' opinions.**


	2. Rec Time

"_Give me one good reason I shouldn't give you my medicine, Dawes…" he purred, his voice harsh and cold and his grip still strong as he held her hair._

_Jonathan watched on, his eyes searching her face. She was so scared. Pale, shivering, eyes as wide as saucers. A small grin crossed his features._

_Rachel choked as she tried to speak, her voice quivering and soft as she struggled and squirmed in her seat. "I…I'll help. I can…I'll find someone t-to help you, J-Jonathan. P-please…let…let me h-help you…"_

_Help him? Help _**him**_? Who did she think she was? No one could help him. Jonathan Crane was not to be fettered by anyone._

"_Wrong answer. I already have someone helping me. Good night Rachel…"_

_The twisted, perverse pleasure of seeing her scream in terror sent a thrill in the young man's body. He never liked Dawes as anything more than a sparring partner. Their hatred was mutual, unspoken but obvious. He would never see her as anything more than a pretty face and shallow, pathetic morals. _

_He felt no remorse…no guilt over sending her mind into plummeting darkness. He had tried it before with no second thoughts. What was so different this time?_

_This time…it had worked._

_Jonathan let out a laugh, and another, and another, until the dark room was filled with a cackle, emanating from the black heart of the maniac. It was loud, filled with such glee and triumph it would have made anyone shiver in recoil. _

_This time…he had won. And he would win again…he just needed to get out…_

"CRANE!"

The voice startled Jonathan from his blissful slumber, eyes snapping open in alert. His lips were twisted into a smile in his sleep, but slowly fell back into a limp look of indifference when he turned his head up towards the large guard beside him.

"No need to shout, Grant. I'm insane, not deaf."

Grant rolled his eyes and made an obscene gesture before two more guards entered the cell. "Get up, Crane. Time to go to the rec room."

"Oh goody," Jonathan replied with a false grin, his eyes dancing with an impish light. "Do we get coloring books too?"

"Depends if you shut that smart-mouth of yours and get up 'afore I make you."

"Make me what? Shut my mouth or get up?" Jonathan choked as he felt Grant's meaty hand wrap itself in the neck of his jacket, right under the base of his skull, and jerk him to his feet. The young man coughed, his arms wriggling in their restraints, unable to claw at the man's hand to get air. He couldn't breathe.

Grant's eyes twinkled as a sneer crossed his lips. "Well, looks like I did both at the same time." He watched Jonathan squirm, enjoying it a little too much, before releasing his grip as the other two guards began undoing Jon's straightjacket.

Jonathan didn't say another word, and didn't dare look Grant in the eye. He waited until the jacket was taken completely off, leaving only his bright, traffic-cone orange jumpsuit showing, before speaking again.

"You know, you could get in trouble for hurting your patients…"

"Look who's talking," Grant snapped as he placed cuffs on Jonathan's wrists and feet. "Start walkin' princess, or your time'll be up before you get there."

Jonathan restrained a growl. He hated that nickname. So degrading…

The walk down the empty corridor felt like the march to his execution. Jonathan listened to the sound of rattling chains, echoing off the walls and ceiling. Had he been wearing white, Jonathan would have resembled a ghost, so pale and morose…it was a wonder he hadn't begun wailing and moaning and shaking his chains like most phantoms do.

The recreation room was nothing more than an old library converted into a sort of small living space. Books lined the wall, ranging from "War and Peace" to "Cat in the Hat", for the…_simpler_ inmates.

The times allotted for recreation period was set into blocks, that way any inmate allowed a rec time was given a specific time each day, and when that time was up, the next group came in while the others were driven back to their cells like cattle.

Jonathan was shoved through the door and gave a snort of disgust as he glanced around the room. There were those he remembered…patients…most or all had suffered some testing under his care. Some were pacing the floor, ranting aloud, or simply rocking back and forth in the corner. Others weren't mental patients, nor had they undergone testing (though Jonathan was definitely up to it) because they were the thugs he bailed out of prison time.

There were also women in the group, albeit very few. Not many women out there in Gotham needed to be locked up in Arkham. And if they did…well, Jonathan almost pitied them. The things that went on here…even _he_ was mildly disgusted at how they were treated by guards or doctors or other inmates. No wonder they shied away from the others, usually together in a group reading or painting or doing other girl-type things Jonathan could care less about.

"Alright, go read or something." Grant gave Jonathan another hard push, nearly sending him into a headfirst fall. Jonathan managed to steady his balance before tumbling, and threw a hateful glare over his shoulder at the guard. If only he had but an ounce of fear toxin…oh he'd love to see Grant suffer.

Jonathan stopped in front of the shelves, his head tilted slightly, and quickly picked out the book he wanted. With a slight glance at the guards, he quietly headed for a secluded spot of the room, the table right under the large barred window, and gently placed his book before him.

"_Great Expectations_…" the corners of his pouting lips turned up in a grin and he slowly placed a finger in the loose spine of the book. Watching the guards, he inconspicuously wriggled his digit, pushing a worn, ragged piece of paper out of the tight confines of the binding. Jonathan unfolded the paper, placing the book on top of it in order to obscure his activities and make it seem less…obvious.

His eyes scanned the paper, taking in each line and detail. He had been very thorough the past few months he was locked here. Arkham had always been his home. He knew her as well as he knew every line in his psychology books. Using what knowledge he had, Jonathan was able to construct a crude but highly accurate map of the grounds. He used the pencils and paper from rec time and worked on it every day for weeks after he slowly began to regain the "normal" half of his mind.

As well as making the map, he had been studying _them_. The guards. Their patterns, their walks, their rounds…he could time each one down to the second. Being in isolation taught him to train his ears. The shoes they wore, different than those of visitors, were easily distinguishable and able to be studied from the comfort of his cell. Eating time was the same for all, so he could calculate when they'd be done feeding and the halls would be clear. At least temporarily.

Jonathan was so absorbed in his drawing that he almost didn't notice the new presence in the room. Some of the guards chuckled and pushed their hats up with their thumbs as they watched her. Jonathan only took notice when someone gave a startled squall. His eyes snapped up immediately.

He knew that voice.

"L-Let me go!"

"Hey, I'm only tryin' to be polite. Look, you can sit here and pai—"

"LET ME GO!" She screamed again and took a swipe at the guard holding her elbow. He laughed, as if it were some amusing game, and bit his lip.

"Can't a guy be a gentleman?" He released her, cackling like a hyena as she slumped to the chair and stared at the small blank canvas and bright paints before her.

_**Well, well, well…if it isn't little Miss Dawes…**_

_They don't usually allow suicidal patients out of their cells. _

_**I'm sure even Miss Dawes wants a little fun time.**_

_I'm sure that's what the guards are after too…_ Jonathan sneered mentally as he looked at the men standing by the entrance, muttering to each other with sick grins on their faces. _Pigs._

Jonathan watched Rachel as she looked around the room, her brown eyes wrought with fright, and waited patiently until she did the inevitable. With a sweeping glance, her eyes locked on his and momentarily, they sat watching each other. Rachel didn't move, and it looked as if she weren't breathing either.

_**What's the matter, little Rachel?**_

Jonathan didn't take his eyes from hers, but stuffed away his map and shut the book before slowly standing to his feet. The young woman did nothing but watch, her eyes growing steadily wider as he took long, drawn out steps towards her. His head lolled to the side, an intuitive look coming over him as the distance between them shrank more…and more…until he was standing behind the easel and canvas, well above it, and looking down at her.

"Miss me?"

Rachel blinked, saying nothing. Her eyes spoke volumes however. Unshed tears, wide and terrified. Her lips quivered like she was about to burst into sobs, her tongue occasionally flickering out to wet them. Jonathan sneered and folded his hands before him.

"Well?"

"P-Please go away…" She murmured, her voice trembling.

"Miss Dawes, please…" He took a seat beside her enjoying when she slowly leaned the other way to keep as far from him as possible. "Aw, I don't bite. Come, come. You're the only person around here I can relatively tolerate. Besides, we're friends right?"

"No," She whispered quietly, picking up her paintbrush in some attempt to ignore him.

"Well, that just hurts my feelings."

"You don't _have _feelings."

Jonathan shrugged and nodded. "I suppose you're right. Though I do have one feeling right now…"

Rachel looked up warily from the corner of her eyes, her brown hair covering her face.

"I have the feeling you aren't enjoying your stay here. What's the matter? Don't like the food?"

Rachel said nothing, but watched her canvas as she dragged paint across it. Jonathan felt his cocky smile droop to a frown and leaned beside her ear.

"It was _them_ wasn't it?"

Her eyes flitted back up to him as he inclined his head towards the group of guards. She stared at them, then at him, before delving back into her work. Jonathan snorted in laughter and shook his head.

"If I was still running the place, Miss Dawes…if you hadn't ruined my life and my work and plans…trust me they would have been LONG gone by now."

"If you were still running the place," she breathed, "I think your patients would be long gone by now too."

"Oh Rachel," Jonathan laughed. "Still bringing up conspiracy theories? Just because I maybe tried to poison the water supply doesn't make me a bad person."

She shook her head as he laughed again. She didn't like looking at him face to face. Without those glasses he usually wore, without that barrier between her and his piercing gaze, she felt completely open, her soul on display for all to see, and, more disturbingly, for _him _to analyze.

"You know, if we are to be in a place like this for so long…I think we should put our past behind us. A fresh start. What do you say?" Jonathan extended his hand. Rachel glared at him, her lips curling into a snarl.

"I say I take this paintbrush and shove it up your—"

"Temper, temper, Miss Dawes. That's not very ladylike."

-----------------------------

Harvey Dent strode down the hall, a package in one hand and wearing a smile. He hoped a visit to Rachel would cheer her up. He knew that under that terrified exterior, the old, cheerful, hard-headed Rachel he knew was still there.

And Rachel loved presents. He was bringing her a diary, hoping that perhaps if she wrote out her emotions, it would help cope with her stay. She was like a little sister to him, and seeing her in such a state brought heartache upon him.

Harvey was led towards the rec room by a guard, though he doubted he'd need the help. He could fight for himself if need be.

The door was pushed open for him and he stepped into the room, his ears filled with the buzz and occasional screams coming from the inmates.

"Where's Miss Dawes?" He questioned to the man who led him here. The guard jerked his head up, gesturing to where she sat. Harvey looked over casually, expecting her to be reading a book or something.

A cold, violent hatred took over him as he stared at the man beside her. _That little…_Couldn't he just leave her be? She looked angry and was speaking hurriedly to him. He seemed uncaring and egged her on, a smile over his pale face.

That was all it took. That mere glimpse…

Harvey dropped his present and pushed his way through the people. Not even Rachel noticed him until he picked Crane up by the back of his shirt, catching the young man off guard, and turned him around to face him.

"Mr. Dent?" Jonathan asked, puzzled. "You're here early."

"What do you think you're doing?"

Jonathan glanced over at Rachel, who looked equally surprised. "Talking to Miss Da—" His sentence was cut short by the horrible cracking of Harvey's fist against his jaw. Crane stumbled back, his eyes wide with shock. For a moment, he stared at Harvey, his eyebrows drawn together as if he couldn't believe the young man had hit him. Then, with a similar wobble a toddler learning to walk might have, he veered to the right and crumpled to the floor, stunned. The other inmates stared, some of the thugs howled with laughter, while Harvey hovered over Jonathan, shaking his hand and flexing his fingers to ease the pain of impact.

"Don't," he said quietly, breathing heavy as the guards slowly made their way over. "Don't you _ever_ get near her again…"

Jonathan's eyelids fluttered, still unable to grasp what had just happened. All he knew was he couldn't open his mouth, and, as struggled to breath, a warm liquid oozed from his lip. The tang of fresh blood stung his taste-buds, and stars now flickered in his vision. As the guards brought Harvey and the other inmates away, he saw Rachel shrink back in fear, watching him as one might watch a dying animal. Pity, but nothing she could do to help.

Jonathan coughed, taking in a ragged breath as a sharp pain shot through his skull.

**_Perhaps we should take slower steps. Make friends with Dawes _after_ you make amends with that guy._**

_Can we just skip it and get out of here?_

_**By the way you just took that punch…trust me, Jonathan. You're not ready for the outside world just yet.**_

It wasn't enough that the guards and inmates were laughing, but now his own mind mocked him.

Jonathan gave a groan, his vision growing blurry until it faded into nothing.

* * *

**A.N.:** Don't worry folks. For anyone thinking it's gonna turn out to be a lovey story between Crane and Rachel, or even Harvey and Rachel...you will be sorely disappointed (or relieved). Crazy Crane has too much fun tormenting her to actually develope any feelings. And Harvey is just big brother out to protect his friend.

Just wanted to clear that up. :) I hope you guys are liking it so far! You know I love to hear what you have to say. (hint hint...yeah...I'm subtle...)


	3. Visitors

"You…hit him?"

"It was just a little punch! He deserved it anyways," Harvey snapped peevishly, his dark eyes stormy and filled with anger. Bruce Wayne raised an eyebrow, a look of concern crossing his strong, handsome features.

"What? What was he doing?"

Harvey hesitated, placing a cigarette to his lips and taking a long drag on it before releasing a smoky breath and turning back to Bruce. "He was talking to her."

Bruce stopped in his tracks, now looking quite puzzled. "He was…talking to her? So you hit him?"

"Yeah."

"Right. I just wanted to clarify." Bruce shook his head and continued walking behind his friend as they began up the steps to Arkham Asylum. "Are you sure you're allowed back here after this incident?"

"They told me I had to stay away for at least five days. It's been five days." Harvey dropped the cigarette to the wet cement stairs, crushing it beneath his foot with a grin. "Good thing the guards here don't give a crap about their patients. Some guy even offered me 20 bucks to hit him again."

Bruce laughed and pushed open the front door, though a slight feeling of worry crawled up his skin in the form of a shiver. He never liked Arkham. It was a looming brick building on the outskirts of the city. No one came around unless it was intentional. It used to be a home…this gigantic behemoth of a building used to be a home.

He remembered finding Rachel in the basement…Doctor Crane…no…the _Scarecrow_ had drugged her once. He had almost lost her.

Now she _was_ lost. He never wanted to believe it, but _Scarecrow_ had succeeded in his mission. The thought was enough to send Bruce into a meditative silence, his face etched with a frown.

"Hey! Bruce! You coming or what?" Harvey called from a good ways down the corridor. Bruce was still at the door, holding it open for no one. He blinked from his stupor and gave an apologetic smile.

"Sorry, Harv. Just thinking about how creepy this place is."

"Hmph, Bruce Wayne afraid of a little mental institution. Maybe you should buy it and convert it into a mall or something," Harvey added snidely as the two walked up the grand staircase to the upper levels housing the inmates.

-----------------------------

Harvey and Bruce were led to the old library again. It was Bruce's first time there, since the other visits to Rachel had been in her cell, a one-on-one talk with her. Now there were people milling around aimlessly; some sat on the couches with wide, vacant eyes; there were a few reading and painting, playing with clay (or eating it); Bruce quirked an eyebrow and looked at Harvey, who nodded to the far right corner of the room. "Over there."

Rachel Dawes sat stooped over in a chair, her eyes downcast as she scribbled lightly on something. The two men nudged their way through the wandering inmates, some screamed nonsense in their faces while others stumbled away, eyes filled with fear and uncertainty. Rachel glanced up when two shadows befell her, her brown eyes wide, expecting the worse. Her expression softened when she stared up at the two handsome faces above her.

"Well," she said gently, putting down her pencil and closing the small journal. "To what do I owe the honor?"

"Just wanted to see how our favorite inmate was holding up," Harvey chuckled as the young woman hopped to her feet, the shackles around her ankles and wrists rattling with the movement.

"I think you just want to knock someone else's lights out again, Mr. Dent," she grinned and Harvey gave a snort, muttering something along the lines of 'You got that right'. She motioned to the journal on her seat. "And thanks for that. I think it's really helping me out. Keeping me sane in a place like this…" She cast a side glance at Bruce who was watching her intently. She knew his secret, and she could see the Batman working behind those eyes…a calculative stare, analytical in all aspects. She pursed her lips and looked at Harvey. "Hey, do…do you think Bruce and I can talk for a second, Harvey?"

The man looked over at Bruce, then back at Rachel with a knowing grin. "Ah, gotcha…" Harvey stepped away, his eyes canvassing the room, when a familiar face caught his eye. It was more like the back of his head. A pale, greasy looking man was hunched before a game of sorts, another man across from him with the same game.

A guttural growl escaped Harvey. He thrust his hand into his coat pocket. If he couldn't smoke to get his mind off of him, he'd have to entertain himself another way. With a flick of the wrist, Harvey snapped his hand from his pocket and a silver dollar flipped into the air.

_Ping!_

Harvey had a steady hand. It was a trick he practiced as a kid. One hand toss, a swipe of his bear-paw of a hand, and a smooth catch. He never missed.

_Ping!_

It was relaxing. The sound of metal spinning in the air, cutting through the chaos.

_Ping!_

Almost as relaxing as his cigarettes.

_Ping!_

He really should quit…it was such a nasty habit. But hey—

_Ping!_

To each his own.

"You know that's _really_ annoying."

Harvey caught his coin effortlessly, a scowl on his face, and looked over at the source of the voice. Jonathan Crane sat twisted in his seat, an elbow on the back of his chair.

"Some people are trying to concentrate."

Harvey threw a look behind him at Bruce and Rachel. They were too busy talking to care about him. As soon as Jonathan turned back around, Harvey stuffed the coin back in his pocket. He felt the familiar anger welling up in him and couldn't stop himself from storming over.

His footsteps were loud, heavy, deliberate. He wanted Jonathan to know he was coming. But the young man didn't move, simply staring at the game before him.

Harvey stopped right beside the table, gripping the edges and leaning on it as he glared at Crane. "Were you talking to me?"

"Yes, now shut up," the young man retorted. "A9?"

"Nope," the other man sitting across from Jonathan murmured, keeping an eye on Harvey.

"Stop playing your stupid game. I'm talking to you."

"Sorry, you'll have to wait your turn like the other children. I'm on a roll."

"C2?"

"No," Jonathan sneered. He glared up at Harvey and waved him off like a child. "Go away. I'm trying to concentrate."

Harvey gave another snarl in his throat and reached forward, plucking a larger playing piece off Jonathan's board and tossing it at his forehead.

"Aw, Mr. Dent…" Jonathan pouted, turning his head upwards. "You sank my battleship," he retorted, his voice dripping with childish sarcasm. Jon lazily turned his eyes back to the man before him. "Didn't I tell you, Marvin?" He said, gesturing his hands as he spoke with a frown. "These lawyer types always have to ruin the fun."

Harvey glared at Marvin and pointed in the other direction. "Get up. I want to have a little heart-to-heart with this guy."

"You mean a little fist-to-face, don't you?" Jonathan purred as Harvey took Marvin's seat, pushing aside the two game boards. "Oh what did I do now? I'm no where near Miss Dawes, and I'm playing board games. What…did I _blink_ wrong this time?"

Harvey smirked, his eyes narrowed. "No, just wanted to see how that face was coming along." He eyed the violet bruise on Jonathan's face, now edged with a light green tinge of healing skin. "Nicely, I see."

Jonathan smirked, his full lips thinning slightly. "I'm surprised they didn't lock a brute like you up after hitting a defenseless mental patient."

"You're no more defenseless than a maniac killer with a knife."

"I didn't have a knife."

Harvey's fists tightened. "That's not the point, Crane. Listen…I hate what you did to _my_ city. I hate the fact innocent people are _dead_ because of you. I hate that you hurt Dawes. More importantly, I hate **_you_**."

Jonathan quirked an eyebrow. "That's a little harsh, wouldn't you say?"

"No…because if I had _my_ way, you'd be walking down the old corridor straight to the chair. You took away plenty of lives, Crane…yours can't be that important."

Jonathan's lip turned up, leaving a lopsided smile plastered across his face. He gave a snort of laughter and leaned forward, his voice a low hiss. "Listen to me, Mr. Dent, and listen to me very well…I'd keep that temper in check if I were you. I may not be a threat to someone like Harvey Dent, District Attorney and all around pig-headed lawyer…but keep up this habit of yours, and someone much bigger and much stronger than either you or me will come along…"

Harvey slowly rose to his feet, his chair screeching as it was pushed back. "Is that a threat, Crane?"

"It's a promise, Mr. Dent," Jonathan smirked, staring up at the man.

Harvey didn't move, but the two men kept a deadly stare-off. Jonathan's chilling blue eyes were like ice. They never moved, it looked like he wasn't even blinking. Harvey's darker blue eyes stormed violently, a muscle in his jaw ticking as he balled up his fist.

"Go on Mr. Dent…make it an even blow." Jon placed a bony finger to his uninjured cheek. "I dare you."

Harvey stared at the pale man's face. He wanted to pound it in his skull, to vent out his frustrations. But something caught his eye. Something that stopped him from doing something he'd regret, and instead made him smirk. Jonathan's confident smile dropped and he looked at Harvey in puzzlement.

"What?"

"I don't need to do anything…" Harvey began to make his way around the table, Crane's eyes following him. "Rachel already left her mark there _for_ you."

Jonathan blinked, running his fingertips on his fair skin and gave a snarled curse as he felt the smooth texture of his scar. The one Rachel's taser had given him.

Bruce looked as Harvey approached, hands stuffed in his pockets. "Hey, I thought you couldn't go near that guy."

"I needed to talk."

Bruce gave a nod and looked back at Rachel. "Well, I…I'll see you later, Rache. I got plans tonight…I promised the big bosses I'd sit with some foreign dignitary and hammer out some stock merges or something like that."

"Sounds riveting," Rachel smiled. "I'm sure you'll have fun."

"I'll try," Bruce sighed. He turned, jerking his head to the door. "Ready to go, Harv?"

"Yup," Dent said and gave Rachel a polite nod. "See you, Dawes. Don't let these guys get to ya."

"I'll try not to," she murmured, and her eyes followed the last chance of outside contact until they were out the door.

She gave a strained noise, blowing a piece of hair from her face, and looked over, only to feel her heart give a startled jolt.

Jonathan stared at her, his eyes narrowed as she shifted under his gaze.

"Alright, get up, rec time over. Back to your rooms…"

It was only then did Jonathan look away, focusing on the floor before him. Rachel gripped the small journal in her hands, her nails digging into the hard cover.

She wished Harvey had thrown another punch. That way the little creep would be out like a light right about now.

* * *

**A.N:** Thanks for the reviews so far. I'm glad you guys are liking the story. :) This was definitely my favorite chapter so far, only because imagining Crane playing board games is quite enjoyable.

A big thanks to cherryhobbit for helping me as I milled about in a rut. The next chapter may be more focused on Bruce than on Crane, just to let you guys know.

Much love to you all :) Please keep reviewing, and keep on reading!


	4. Demon's Daughter I

Bruce fidgeted in his seat. He brought his fingers to his necktie, itching to loosen it slightly, but curled his fingers back into his palm and instead drummed them against the table.

It was bad enough he had to sit here and listen to some dignitary come in, jabber on the economy, their money, their estates, their power, bla bla bla…but to force him to sit there in an uncomfortable suit and tie…he hated doing nothing. The person Wayne Enterprises was interested in keeping their stock safe was already late, and he could be out there now trying to track down the Joker, who had eluded him for long enough.

Bruce blew an irritated breath from his nose and leaned over. "Lucius, are you sure we can't handle this without my being here?"

The older man looked over, his drink poised to his lips and a smirk on his face. "What? Not having fun?"

"Guys like me don't have fun in monkey suits," Bruce hissed.

"That's right," Lucius Fox took a pull on his drink before setting it down with the same smile he had on before. "Guys like you like…spelunking, right?" Bruce allowed a small grin to settle on his face and leaned back into his seat.

"Right…spelunking."

"Well, I'm afraid your extracurricular activities have to wait, Mr. Wayne," Lucius's tired gray eyes drifted upwards as the doors to the banquet room of the restaurant opened. "Our guest has arrived."

Bruce's eyes drifted lazily to the direction of the door. The first to enter were two men, no less than six feet tall, dressed in black suits and ties. They resembled the secret service more than anything, complete with little headsets shoved in their ears.

_Authentic,_ mused the young man as he gave a chuckle to himself, lifting his glass up to his lips. _Old guy likes his security. He's probably worth millions._

Bruce watched, expecting a balding little man to enter next, dressed in his finest.

Bruce's eyes grew wide ever so slightly and he nearly choked on his drink when a young woman, not old man, entered behind the bodyguards.

Tall and lean, fit; she was quite unlike many of the women he was used to. The woman loped past her security with a lazy gait not unlike a panther or other big cat. She had a confident walk, with long, draw out steps. Bruce knew he shouldn't gawk. Batman doesn't gawk.

But billionaire playboys do.

Her dress added all the more uneasiness to Bruce's demeanor. It was short, quite short, with a plunging neckline, a halter-dress of sorts. At least she came prepared, with a short, white fur jacket, made of some creature Bruce knew was expensive, slung over her shoulder. Apparently she knew about the cold, rainy fall weather of Gotham.

The dress sparkled and twinkled under the faded lights of the dining hall; gold and brown glittering as she made her way up to the table…she looked like she belonged on a runway somewhere _spending_ her money, not here talking about how she'd like to _invest_ it.

"Ah," Lucius rose first, breaking Bruce from his transfixed gaze. He reached out and offered her his hand. "We were worried you wouldn't make it."

Her caramel colored hand accepted Lucius's and she gave a laugh, gentle yet, it seemed, a bit forced. "No, Mr. Fox. No need to worry. It was a nightmare with the traffic, you know how it is." Bruce could hear the hint of an accent, so soft and barely noticeable, yet it added a bit of class to her.

The woman's hazel eyes, bright and clear, slowly drifted down to Bruce. He blinked a moment before remembering his manners and standing to his feet. "Sorry, how rude of me. I'm Bruce Wayne," she took his hand, her perfectly manicured nails clicking together and a grin crossing her face.

"Talia. Talia Head. Nice to meet you Mr. Wayne," she murmured, taking back her hand and glancing around the room. The board of director's sat at a round table, for it would be much easier to make negotiations if they could see everyone easily. Plus a long rectangular table might just seem a bit too…business like. Since Lucius took over as head of the board, his ideas and thoughts were focused on those he did business with. He wished to make them as comfortable as possible.

Talia eyed the seat by Bruce and motioned to it slowly.

"Do you mind, Mr. Wayne?"

The young man shook his head and pulled out her chair. "Not at all."

She sat, brushing a strand of auburn hair away from her eyes, and placed her coat on the back of her chair. "I've forgotten how cold this city is…"

Bruce smirked and nodded, taking a sip of his champagne. "I can't argue there. Weather is unusually chilly…"

Talia watched him for a moment before picking up her water glass. "It's not just the weather. People are just as unwelcoming."

Bruce quirked an eyebrow as she placed the glass to her lips, careful not to smudge her lipstick. "Oh, I'm sure we're not all like this…right? There must be a nice few Gothamites around…"

"Are you trying to redeem yourself, Mr. Wayne?"

"Bruce."

Talia placed her drink back down, staring at him with her sparkling hazel eyes. "Excuse me?"

"Bruce. Call me Bruce." He cleared his throat as the waiter approached, topping off his champagne again. "You say we're cold. Well, perhaps the formalities add to that problem."

She gave a smile and leaned her elbow on the table, resting her chin on the back of her hand. "Perhaps they do. If that is the case, I insist you call me Talia."

He gave a slight nod. "Fine, Talia it is."

---------------------------------------------

Dinner was done, and as the plates were picked up off the table, the plans for how Talia's money would be invested went as smoothly as things could go.

"Well, Ms. Head, we are very pleased that you have decided to merge your finances with Wayne Enterprises," Lucius smiled, folding his arms and turning to face her in his chair.

"From what I hear, your company has been soaring. My close associates have told me it's a wise choice to put my father's money in the company."

Talia was now in business mode, sitting upright with perfect posture, her eyes fiery and strong as she eyed each man at the table.

Bruce could see she wasn't just a daddy's girl sticking her hand in the money jar. She wanted to care for her father's business.

"And I'm sure my father would agree as well if he were still with us."

Lucius bowed his head apologetically. "I'm sorry for your loss. But believe me Ms. Head, we will keep your father's money in great care."

Talia smiled and laced her fingers together on the table before her. "Then, I believe business is done here. I will have those handling the money contact you soon. And thank you for your hospitality Mr. Fox."

The older men at the table all stood as Talia did, all save for Bruce, who rose to his feet once she had already taken her coat off from the back of the chair and was halfway to her body guards.

Bruce cast a glance at Lucius, who was busy speaking to one of his colleagues. He knew the older gentleman would disapprove of him taking interest in Talia, especially now that she was a possible business opportunity, but he was only human.

Even Bruce Wayne had his weaknesses.

"Talia," He caught her attention as she spoke in hushed tones with one of the body guards. Her long silky hair flowed over her shoulders as she turned to face him, a bit taken aback that he was talking to her.

"Oh, yes, Mr. Wa…er…Bruce?" She said with a slight laugh. "Sorry, it's a habit."

Bruce waved her off with his million-dollar smile. "No, don't worry." He shoved one of his hands in his coat pocket and brought the other in a fist up to his lips, giving a soft cough. "I was wondering where you were going in such a hurry."

She watched him, her fingers playing with the expensive-looking brown and gold chandelier earrings dangling delicately from her ears. "I promised to meet a friend."

"Oh…" Bruce glanced down at his shoes and gave a nod. "I understand."

"Why do you ask, Bruce?"

The younger man smiled and shook his head. "No reason. Just…wondering."

She gave a laugh, though this one seemed lighter and easier than the one from before. "You're a terrible liar, Bruce. I thought we were trying to establish that not all Gothamites, as you call them, are cold people."

"W-well…I―"

"Then, lying certainly doesn't help your cause," she added before murmuring something in another language to the body guard. He nodded and strode out the door. "Well, if that is the case, _Mr. Wayne_, I believe I need to go now."

Bruce's jaw stiffened as she grinned wider and turned her back on him. "Perhaps some other time then?"

She paused and glanced back over her shoulder as Bruce rocked on his heels, bringing his free hand into his other pocket. "Perhaps you could join me for dinner or lunch when you aren't so busy."

Talia looked over at the door, then back at Bruce. "Oh I don't know, Mr. Wayne…I'm a _very_ busy person."

He smiled and gave a slight shrug. "Well, I thought maybe you'd like a tour of the town. I mean, after all, it is your first time here, isn't it?"

Talia gave a smile and glanced over as one of the body guards called her name again. She snapped something in that same foreign language. Bruce could have sworn he heard his name mentioned. The guard looked over at him, snorting, and left once more. Talia returned her hazel eyes to Bruce, biting her lower lip in thought. "Hmm, well, it would be nice to have a tour guide."

"And who better to tour you around than a local?"

She paused, her eyes sparkling, and gave another gentle laugh. "Alright Mr. Wayne. I suppose I can take you up on your deal. I'll be staying at the Ritz-Carlton Suite down on Grand Avenue…" She adjusted her purse over her shoulder and smirked. "Do call ahead, though. I'm not particular with uninvited guests. I may have one of my guards shoot."

Bruce blinked, tensing up slightly, but her laugh made him relax. "Calm down, Mr. Wayne, it's only a joke. I look forward to our meal together." She turned gracefully on her heels and walked off, disappearing out the door.

Bruce raised his eyebrows, an amused look on his face. He had a date with Talia. Bruce glanced over an looked back at Lucius, who watched him before shaking his head. Bruce gave a laugh, shrugging, and strode out the same door Talia had exited from.

Yes, Bruce Wayne _and_ Batman had their weaknesses.

---------------------------------------------

"You're father wouldn't be pleased with this rendezvous," one of Talia's bodyguards muttered, pulling the headset from his ear and tossing it on the other man's lap as they sat in the front seats.

Talia looked up from the rear of the limo, flipping her hair back with a flick of her hand. "You don't know my father well enough then. He'd want me to do what is necessary."

"To have his daughter making dinner dates when she _should_ be working?"

"Who is to say I am _not_ working?" Talia snapped, her eyes blazing with a new intensity, something she kept only when dealing with her father's men. "I regret to inform you that here you are under _my_ authority. Therefore keep your tongue in check, or you lose it." The man fell silent and Talia leaned back into her seat. "You know where we are going, correct?"

"Yes, Ms. Al Ghul."

"Good," She murmured, drawing her attention from the back of their heads to the window. The massive, pricey buildings melted away, shrinking and shriveling into decrepit apartments, crumbling streets, people turning from suits and tuxedos to moth eaten shirts and dingy street clothes. Then there were no buildings, no people; just a long, lonely, narrow road lined with trees and vast expanses of space. No street lamps lit the way, only the moonlight streamed through Talia's window, casting an eerie pale glow to her features.

They reached their destination, and as Talia was led by her guards, she stopped and cast a glance at the huge building before her. "Hmph…" was all she said before stepping into the doorway, consumed by inky black shadows.

Talia entered a reception area, where a man in uniform sat, half asleep as he stared at monitors before him.

"Excuse me?"

The man looked up, startled by the female voice, and swiped at the drool leaking from the side of his lips. "Oh…er…I'm sorry, ma'am. You need something?"

"Yes, I need to speak with someone. A patient here."

"I'm afraid that's impossible. Visiting hours are over."

Talia gave a sigh and reached into her purse. She slammed a wad of money on the desk and frowned. "How much time does this give me?"

The guard stared at the money…more than he made in a week. "Uh…plenty. Who you wanna see?"

"Bring me to Jonathan Crane."

* * *

**A.N.:** Hope the addition of Ms. Talia wasn't too far of a throw. I know that she and Bruce share romantic-y feelings in the comics, plus she would definitely fit in the direction the story is going. (another thanks to my friend Cherryhobbit, who is very helpful in my mental ruts)

Thanks for reading, don't forget to review!


	5. Demon's Daughter II

Jonathan Crane lay in his cot, staring up at the ceiling. He was never one for sleeping…he wasn't all that tired. He would simply relax, watching the all-consuming blackness overtake him. Convicts of his caliber were not allowed rooms with windows. So the darkness stayed with him until the early morning hours, when blinding fluorescent lights startled him into attention.

The young man's feet were propped on the wall beside him, and his head dangled awkwardly off the bed. He was completely perpendicular to his cot…something he did when unable to sleep. Everything was upside-down for him, not that it mattered in the darkness, but he could pick out the faint figure walking through the darkened corridors. He heard the keys of one of the guards jingling and footsteps coming down the cement walkway. A curious look came over him as he stared at the little rectangular window, noticing the visage of a guard standing there. It took a moment before the ritualistic clicking and whirring noises took place, unusually loud in the still night air, and the door swung open. The guard entered, tugging at his belt and rapping his nightstick against the metal door loudly.

"Rise and shine."

"It can't be more than ten p.m.…a little early for a wake up call, wouldn't you say?" Jonathan stared up from his vantage point. The guard, still upside-down in his vision, waved his hand outside, motioning for the lights. Jonathan winced as his eyes stung from the sudden flood of brightness, and wished to rub them, but was unable to do so, for he was sentenced to wear that straightjacket until he was either deemed sane—_Ha! Truly laughable, and highly unlikely_, he thought—or until he was dead. He usually expected the latter.

The guard once again raised a burly paw of a hand, waving someone from the hall. "You got company."

"A night owl? Tell them to come back in the morning. I haven't had time to spruce up yet."

The guard glared at him with beady black eyes.

"Ya, well, tell 'er yourself."

_Her?_

Jonathan stared at a tall woman entering the room as the guard exited and shut the door. She was alarmingly pretty, even for the man whose nose was always stuffed in a textbook and had no need for the fairer of the human species. Her long hair positively flowed over her shoulders, and her dress, decorated with gold, made her all the more regal. Jonathan couldn't quite help wonder if perhaps she had entered the wrong cell.

"Jonathan Crane, I presume?" The young man attempted a nod, a little hard to do with his head dangling off the bed, and the woman quirked an eyebrow. "Where are your manners?"

Jonathan looked a bit puzzled before it clicked. _Aahhh, she's one of _those_ girls. Prim, proper, pampered…_"My manners? Well, they're the same place my sanity is, ma'am," Jonathan replied snidely, his eyes narrowing. No one came in here talking to him like that.

The woman's bright hazel eyes grew stormy, as if she was restraining herself from injuring him. "You're right. How foolish of me to think a man in an asylum would have _manners_."

"Yeah, what's wrong with you, lady?" Jonathan tilted his head, staring at her. "You're not from here are you? From Gotham I mean…no…you're not from this country, right?"

The woman sat in a chair, one kept in every cell for inmates when they had visitors, and she stared at him. "And how do you figure that?"

"Your accent. It's sharp…definite. I would say…Eastern. Far eastern." The woman raised an eyebrow. "Maybe Europe…Eastern Europe…Russia…Asia…am I getting warmer? Ah, wait…don't tell me…" He stuck out his tongue, running them along his chapped lips in thought. "Let's see…you're Eurasian, am I correct?

The woman gave a smile, amused by his guesswork. "My father was from England, and my mother from Asia. How did you—"

"I have my ways ma'am." He gave her a smile, something rare and fleeting, perhaps even a little sarcastic. "Your face gave it away too. The way your eyebrows went up just slightly when I hit the right countries. Quite unprofessional. You should know better than to let an opponent see your 'tells'." Jonathan yawned loudly and rudely, causing the young woman's smile to falter. "Now what is it? I'm quite tired and wish to get on with my pathetic and meaningless life. Or should we play another _rousing_ game of 20 questions?" He added bitterly, a sneer crossing his lips.

Talia curled her lip in disapproval. "I would have thought for the man my father made you out to be, you'd be a bit more welcoming."

"Your father, eh?" Jonathan stared at her, ice cold eyes studying her face as she stared back. "What is your name, pray tell?"

She blinked, matching his cold gaze perfectly. "Why does it matter?"

"Well, I like to know who I talk to. There are _so _many bad people out there. I'd hate someone taking advantage of me in my state."

She folded her arms, her finely filed nails digging slightly in her skin as she grew a bit annoyed by his behavior. "My name is Talia al Ghul."

Jonathan nearly slipped from his comfortable position on his cot, which would have dropped him headfirst against the cold polished cement floor. He furrowed his brow, scrambling in his bondage to turn his body around and sit upright. "Al Ghul? Your…your father was…Ra's al Ghul?"

"My, my, you're such a good guesser, Doctor Crane. Now, tell me, what color am I thinking of?"

Jonathan's blood boiled. Ra's…Ra's was the reason this all started. This façade as a mild-mannered, albeit unfeeling, psychiatrist…the game of studying those delicate blue flowers, looking for the compound that made them "special" and turning it into a weaponized hallucinogen for that man…the beginning of the Scarecrow's reign. Jonathan thought it was a plan to hold the city for ransom. Ra's had a plan, however, to turn Gotham to rubble. To start anew…

He led Jonathan astray. Something that angered the thin, high strung young man.

"Why are you here? What do you want?"

"I want to speak with the man my father trusted here in Gotham. The man he believed would carry out his wishes. He tells me about you all the time."

Jonathan flinched, uncomfortable that Ra's shared his views about him with his daughter. Hell, he didn't even know he _had _a daughter. But a nagging voice crept into his mind.

_**How is that possible? Isn't Ra's…dead?**_

Jonathan glanced over at her. "You're father is dead. I doubt I worked with him long enough to have my reputation spread around _after_ death."

Talia smiled, a grin that eerily reminded him of his own…something forced, cruel, but it was something mildly beautiful on a face like hers. "You, of all people, should know never to take something at face value, Doctor."

"I'm not a doctor. Not anymore. Now I'm just…" He gave a chuckle, hugging himself in his straightjacket. "Now I'm just _crazy_. But even a crazy person knows when he's being lied to. Ra's is dead, isn't he?"

**_Dead…he's dead…he's got to be dead…_**

Talia laughed airily, waving her hand flippantly. "Dead…dead is such a relative term."

"Then he's alive!" Jonathan practically screeched.

"As alive as he can be at a time like this…he's still recovering…still nursing his wounds…my poor father…"

"He died in that train. The…the one headed for Wayne Tower…I heard it all over the news!"

"You should know the media cannot be trusted."  
"But how? That explosion! No one can survive something like that!"

Talia stared at him, uncurling her arms and placing them on her knee, lacing her fingers together. "That…that is a secret I cannot share with you. Besides, my business is not about my father's miraculous escape. I wish to speak with _you_."

"About?" Jonathan asked defensively. He was still reeling about the fact that the man who hired him, the man who was supposed to be dead, was in fact quite alive.

"I wish to start my father's work again. Here in Gotham."

"You mean…start where daddy left off?" Jonathan snorted. "Impossible. By now the microwave emitter he used is destroyed, and any plans for it either burned or stored away under lock and key."

Talia laughed again, as if Jonathan had said a funny joke. "Oh please, Mr. Crane, you honestly think I'll try the same thing my father did? You know they'd expect that…no, the league will be handling the dirty work. I plan on going after the city officials, not the city itself." Jonathan eyed her as she grinned again, tucking her hair behind her ear. "Think about it…with the police dead…the mayor run out…every upstanding lawyer, juror, judge erased from this city, Gotham would tear itself apart. Havoc would ensue. There's no need for theatricality. The simplicity of destroying each bothersome government official one by one…"

"You've been thinking a lot about this…haven't you?" The young man sneered, tightening his hold on himself. "But…I fail to see the part where _I_ come in. Or is this just some sort of twisted 'rub-it-in-your-face' moment?"

"Oh on the contrary," Talia murmured, rummaging through her purse. "I'm quite willing to pay for your services."

Jonathan quirked an eyebrow, a grim smile on his face. "Well, this is all very sudden, Ms. Al Ghul…"

She gave him a look of utter disgust, holding her checkbook in one hand and a pen in the other. "Don't flatter yourself, Mr. Crane." Jonathan's smile stretched. "I'd be willing to pay you if you allowed my team to use your asylum as a sort of base. To train, plan…that sort of thing."

It was Jonathan's turn to laugh. "Well, Ms. Al Ghul, I'm sorry to be the one to tell you this, but…I don't work in the asylum anymore. I'm a little tied up at the moment…"

"You think I haven't thought of this? Of course we'd have to release you…either pay off the man who now runs the place or—"

"It would be far safer to eliminate his interference," Jonathan murmured hoarsely. "I have several doctors and guards that we would need to rid ourselves of. They'd get suspicious…some of them hate me enough to tell the police."

"Fine," Talia smirked. "I'll have my men take care of them. As for breaking you out…do you have any idea where we can get a blue-print of the grounds?"

"In the director's office…I used to store them in the closet, but he may have moved them. He's not in now, so it would be wise to try and obtain it tonight."

"What's the rush?" She asked, amused. "Don't like your padded cell?"

"No more than I like finding out dead people aren't dead…and that their children need my help."

Talia rose to her feet, her eyes sparkling with an impish nature. He didn't doubt the young lady took after her father. Their cruelty was quite similar…thinking they'd save the city by killing thousands. "It was a pleasure, Mr. Crane."

"Please, if you plan on breaking me out of here…don't call me Mr. Crane. I didn't spend years studying psychology to be called 'mister'. Only now may you refer to me as _Doctor_ Crane."

Talia gave another laugh, sparkling and light. "Doctor Crane it is. I'll be back to visit once the details are set. But now, I trust you will keep your mouth _shut_ about the plans, or I will be _very_ angry."

"And we would hate to see that."

"Exactly. Good evening, Doctor Crane," she murmured, opening the heavy steel door and shutting it with much force behind her.

Jonathan gawked at the rectangular window as she and the guard passed by. A muscle in his jaw ticked, and a feeling of excitement buzzed through his body.

_Escape? I…I'm going to escape?_

_**That wasn't so bad. In fact, it went pretty good…I think she likes you Jonathan.**_

_I think she'd rather tear my head off. _Jonathan blinked as the bright lights above him shut off suddenly, plunging the room into utter darkness once more.

All he could hear was the Scarecrow laughing.

_**We're getting our job back…we're paying this city back for what it did to us.**_

_What about the bat-man?_

_**I'm sure the little princess heard all about him from daddy. **_

_Should we warn her too?_

_**Let her fall on her own face, Jonathan. If we interfere…we'll end up back in this cell. And we don't want that now, do we?**_

_No…no we don't._

The voice in his mind cackled, dying out slowly.

_**Get some sleep Jonathan. Don't look like so much of a fool next time she visits. Pretty women don't exactly flock to you.**_

_Yeah thanks…thanks for that._

_**Your welcome.**_

* * *

**A.N.:** Sorry for the late update. School has been hectic and I hadn't had time to quite finish the chapter by the time I wanted to upload it. So, I hope I didn't keep you guys waiting for too long.

Enjoy reading, and please review :D thank you!


	6. A Date with Talia

Bruce fought with his wine-red tie in the full length silver mirror. He grunted, his eyebrows furrowed in a frown as he stared at a large knot formed from when he tried to tighten the tie. The young man swore under his breath, running a frustrated hand through his hair and began working his fingers to undo the tangle. He stopped momentarily to shake his sleeve and caught a look at the platinum Rolex on his wrist before expelling another curse and fidgeting with the knot.

"Having trouble, Master Wayne?"

Bruce glanced back at the drawling, British-accented voice and felt his lips turn up in a sheepish grin. Alfred Pennyworth stood in the doorway, his hands behind his back and a dry, humorless look on his face. "Yeah, a little trouble. I'm going to be late, and I could really use a hand…"

"I can see that," the older man quipped, stepping through the threshold onto the rich Persian rug and batting Bruce's hands away from the offending tie. "My god, what were you doing, tying a noose?"

"Alfred…"

"One moment, one moment…" He shook his head, sighing to himself. "I see you have a date tonight. I think I want to meet this young woman."

Bruce frowned as the older man adjusted the silk fabric around his neck. "Oh? Why's that?"

"I've never caught you so jittery, Master Wayne. She must be a sight to behold."

"I'm not jittery. I was reading the paper while tying this thing and got a little distracted."

"Mmmhm…" the older man hummed, not sounding at all convinced. Bruce sighed and held up the paper for the older man to read.

_**Gotham's New D.A. to Prosecute Carmine Falcone in Court**_

Alfred quirked his eyebrow and cast a look up from the paper at Bruce. "Your old friend Mr. Dent is prosecuting that Falcone character?" He focused on the tie again. "I thought Mr. Falcone had been sent to Arkham."

"Yeah, so did I. Apparently he got better."

"I didn't realize there was a cure for madness," Alfred snipped, tightening the tie and stepping back as Bruce looked at himself in the mirror.

"Well, there is. It's small, and green, and usually has a president's face on it."

Alfred gave a snort and shook his head, muttering something beneath his breath. Bruce turned back around and held out his arms. "Well? How do I look?"

"Positively dashing, Master Wayne," Alfred half-stated, half-sighed.

"You're just saying that," Bruce grinned, shrugging his Armani coat over his shoulders and picking up his wallet from the nightstand.

"And smart too," Alfred smiled as the young man walked past him, bounding down the grand staircase every other step at a time.

"Don't wait up for me Alfred!" Bruce called before shutting the door behind him. Alfred sighed, picking up the abandoned newspaper in the room and tucked it beneath his arm, strolling from the room at his usual mellow pace.

"No worries Master Bruce, I won't. I suppose I'll keep myself entertained with the funnies…"

-----------------------------

Bruce rolled his black Lamborghini Murciélago to a stop outside the Ritz-Carlton. Steel blue eyes traveled up the side of the building, stopping at the very top window, and the young man let out a pent up breath he had been holding in for quite some time.

"Nice car."

Bruce looked up and saw the valet, wide eyed, looking at the sleek black vehicle. He smirked, tossing him the keys, and jerked his head to the car. "I'll be right back."

"Yes sir."

Bruce rounded the hood of the car, fixing his jacket one last time, and gave the doorman a courteous nod as he opened the door.

"Good evening and welcome to the Ritz-Carlton…" The receptionist lifted her head from a clipboard and her eyebrows twitched into a slight frown. "Mr. Wayne? Bruce Wayne?"

Bruce chuckled, placing his forearms on the front desk. "I really should get a secret identity or something."

The receptionist blinked and smiled brightly. "I'm sorry sir, what would you like us to do for you tonight?"

"I'm looking for a Miss Talia Head. She's in one of your suites. I was wondering if you could send a call up there for me to tell her I'm here to pick her up for dinner."

The woman nodded, pressing one of buttons on her the phone sitting by the computer and continued to type on her computer as Bruce turned around to face the revolving doors behind him.

"Hello? Yes, this is the front desk. Mr. Bruce Wayne says he's here to pick Ms. Head up for dinner." She blinked, slowing her typing as she nodded to herself. "Uh-huh, sure. I'll tell him." She pressed the button again and smiled up at Bruce as he turned back to face her. "Her bodyguard will be down with her in a moment. He says you'll need to be searched."

Bruce laughed, scratching at his head idly. "Ah, well…I…I never heard that one before…" He clutched his jacket a bit tighter around his shoulders and shrugged. "How long do you think they'll―"

Bruce was cut off by the sound of the elevator light pinging to life and the gold doors sliding open to reveal the burly guard from last night. He looked all the more menacing today, with his sunglasses pushed firmly onto his face and a blank look across his features.

"Mr. Wayne."

"I take it you need to search me, right?" Bruce had his answer as the bodyguard's large hands patted down his coat and pant legs. The man grunted, looking him over, then picked up his walkie-talkie, muttering something unintelligible to the person on the other side. He placed his hands behind his back and stared at Bruce, stone-faced.

"Miss Head will be down in a moment."

"Thanks," Bruce grimaced, avoiding the man's eyes despite their being hidden behind the darkened shades.

It wasn't long before the elevator doors opened and Bruce felt a smile curl over his lips. Talia stepped into the soft light of the hotel lobby wearing a short black dress, glittering with faint silver specks, and let her long auburn hair cascade over her shoulders. Long diamond strand-like earrings sparkled, following the curve of her neck, and an equally shimmering diamond necklace wound itself around her graceful features. One hand held a phone to her ear while the other waved about carelessly as she spoke, the occasional sparkle of jewelry catching Bruce's eye.

"Non, non, expliquez à lui que je dis les ordres. Oui, merci. Au revoir." Talia slapped the phone closed, stuffing it into her purse as she smiled up at Bruce. "Ah, Mr. Wayne, I see you made it."

Bruce took her hand and smiled, kissing her knuckles. "Of course."

"My, my," she laughed airily, pulling her hand back. "You're quite the charmer I see. I signed up for a tour guide and got a gentleman."

"I was only trying to be polite, Ms. Head." Bruce glanced down at her purse, then back up at her. "I didn't know you spoke French."

"My father sent me to a prestigious school as a child…I needed to learn it in order to take over his business." Talia let her head loll to the side and smiled. "Now…are you ready to go Mr. Wayne?"

He held out his elbow and grinned brightly. "Of course I am." Talia glanced down at his arm, then back at him with tinkling laughter, placing her hand over his elbow.

"Thank you, Mr. Wayne."

Bruce led her down through the front doors, throwing a look back at the man inside. "Your guard isn't coming along?"

Talia's hazel eyes twinkled as she smiled. "No, I gave him the night off. He's always busy, plus it is only dinner, right?"

The valet tossed Bruce his keys and the young man gave her his charming, million-dollar smirk.

"Right, only dinner," Bruce murmured, opening the Lamborghini's door for her. Talia sank into her seat, her eyes following him as he rounded the car and hopped into the driver's seat.

"So, where are we going tonight, Mr. Wayne?"

"A new Italian place down the street, '_Sole Dorato_'."

"Sounds nice."  
Bruce shrugged. "That's what I hear. I hope you don't mind."

"Now why would I mind?" She grinned as the car sped down Grand Avenue. Bruce looked over at her, streetlamps lighting her face up at regular intervals each time they passed under them. Her hair whipped about her face, and sometimes she would raise her perfectly manicured hands to keep the strands from sticking to her lipstick.

He really hoped now that tonight there would be no reason for Batman to be called into duty.

-----------------------------

Bruce set his fork down, bringing his napkin to his lips as Talia took a pull on her champagne glass across from him. "The meal was delicious, Mr. Wayne. I'll have to remember this place next time I want Italian."

"I thought you might like it."

"Oh did you now?"

Bruce waved for the maître d' as he nodded at Talia. "Well, I pictured you as the type who might appreciate a nice Italian meal."

"You seem to know me better than most, and we only just met."

Bruce noted the flirtatious look in her eye and averted his gaze to the waiter, though he still spoke to her. "Well, I think it's just good guesswork."

"You have a knack for that, I presume? Guessing things women enjoy?"

"You could call it that. Why?"

Talia held her glass out as the waiter poured more champagne in it. "Well, your reputation precedes you. On my way to the hotel, every newsstand I passed had some sort of story on you. You have a way with making a name for yourself."

Bruce chuckled. "That's not always a good thing."

Talia laughed as well. "Well, be glad there's someone out there more popular than you, then."

"Hm, I should shake his hand. Who is it?"

Talia looked at him in shock. "Oh don't tell me. You are Mr. Gotham. You must know about the Batman's popularity."

"Oh that nut?" Bruce snorted. "Trust me, I'm not too threatened by his rise to fame." He shrugged, sipping his glass. "He's a fad. It'll pass eventually."

"I sense a bit of jealousy."

Bruce rolled his eyes, smiling. "I'm not one for jealousy…believe me."

"Pardon me, but would you like dessert or coffee, Mr. Wayne?" The waiter interrupted at Bruce's side.

The young man shook his head. "No, thank you." He waited until the man disappeared before turning his eyes back to Talia. "I know a better place for coffee and dessert."

"Sounds delightful." Talia leaned her chin on her elbow, her lips pulled back into a grin as she eyed Bruce. "I must say you are a very good tour guide."

"Well, Gotham is my home. I know her like the back of my hand."

Talia's eyelids drooped as she stared at him, her smile fading slowly. "It must be a shame then…"

Bruce tipped his glass up, draining it of its contents, his eyebrows drawn upwards. "Hm? Shame? What's a shame?"

"Your city. I know you love Gotham, but it seems she is crumbling around you."

Bruce drew his fingertips together and sighed. "I know…it breaks my heart."

"If people were as concerned as you are, I'm sure your city would be thriving now."

Bruce glanced up, his eyebrows drawing together as he nodded. "I just do what I think my parents would have done. Donations, fundraisers…there's plenty of ways to get the rich to take notice…or at least pretend like they do to look good for the papers."

Talia gave a tittering giggle, flipping her hair back. "Hmph, if you ask me, the rich and famous need a little wakeup call. My father raised me to appreciate our wealth, as I am sure your father had done with you. Why else would I deposit money into your stock?"

"I thought maybe you just liked me better," Bruce states with a coy grin, to which Talia returned with a similar smirk.

"I can _tolerate_ you better, Mr. Wayne."

"Ouch," Bruce feigned hurt, placing a hand on his heart. "That stings. Wait, what ever happened to no formalities? I thought I insisted you call me Bruce."

"And I thought I requested to be called Talia," she stated plainly, her eyes dancing. Bruce looked down at his empty plate and smiled.

"You're right. Forgive me. I―" Bruce's smile faltered as he looked down at his phone, vibrating inside his coat. Talia looked at him, then at the pocket.

"My, Bruce, you are quite popular."

"I'm sorry Talia, just a moment," Bruce excused himself, picking up his cell and walking to the front of the restaurant.

"Hello?"

"_Master Bruce, it's Alfred._"

"Um, Alfred, if you recall…I'm a little busy at the moment. Dinner, remember?"

"_Have you looked up lately?_"

"Up? Alfred," Bruce sighed, his eyes slowly drifting to the darkening sky above, "what are you talk―…" His voice trailed off and Alfred gave a click of his tongue.

"_You were saying?_"

Bruce stared at the bright bat-signal up in the sky. "Gordon?"

"_I would think so._"

"Now?" Bruce cast a glance back at the restaurant, Talia sitting alone drumming her fingers on the table. "Is there something important on the news?"

"_I believe there's a hubbub down in the jewelry district, involving your favorite clown-themed villain._"

"Of all nights for him to show up," Bruce grumbled. "Fine, please get my stuff ready, Alfred."

"_Yes Master Wayne._"

Bruce hung up, cursing under his breath, and doubled back into the restaurant. Talia looked up as he approached, studying his frazzled expression.

"Is everything alright, Bruce?"

"Actually…no. Lucius needs to discuss something important with me about a recent purchase we made, and I'm afraid I have to cut our evening short."

Talia watched him, her eyes scanning his face, and she gave a slight pout of her pretty lips. "Pity, I was quite enjoying myself."

Bruce nodded, resisting the urge to curse again and motioned to his car. "If you like, I can drop you back off at your hotel."

"No, no, that's fine. I'll have one of my guards pick me up." She rose from her seat, crossing around the table, and took her purse up in her hands. Talia stopped before Bruce, placing long, delicate fingers on his shoulder, and leaned up on her toes, planting a soft kiss on his cheek.

Bruce quirked an eyebrow, a smile crossing his lips. "What happened to just tolerating me?"

"I can make an exception," she practically purred, pulling her phone from her purse. "I do hope we can meet again, Bruce. I had a lovely time."

"I'll remember that…maybe this Saturday?"

Talia's laugh constricted in her throat, a noise of amusement. "Perhaps. I'll check my schedule." She waggled her fingers in a half-hearted wave and stalked out the front door, hips swaying as she walked.

Bruce watched Talia's receding figure and sighed. "Gordon owes me."

-----------------------------

Talia trudged down the sidewalk until she was out of sight from the restaurant. Then, only then, did she lift her head and stare at the gleaming bat emblem as it glowed against the clouds in the starless sky.

Her lips turned up, a knowing look crossing her lovely features as she placed the phone to her ear. A diamond ring on her finger sparkled, allowing her to focus on something as the other line picked up.

"_Hello?_"

"I need a ride."

"_Where to, Ms. Al Ghul?_"

Talia's eyes drifted up to the signal and a cold knot formed in her stomach; hatred…hatred for the man who 'killed' her father.

"Where there's trouble. I want to see the 'batman' in action."

* * *

**A.N.: **'Nother chapter up. I managed to write this out while drugged up on cold medicine, and am quite proud of the chapter, actually.

And yes, in case you are wondering, Talia _does_ know who Batman is. If her dad is still alive (as she has admitted in the last chapter), of course he'd tell his daughter the truth, right?

Hopefully more Crane coming up, I really have no set plot currently so...ideas are still trying to form properly. Please enjoy reading and please **review**:) thank you, all of you who have been reading so far. Means a lot to me.


	7. Joker

Bruce's eyes narrowed as the black tumbler veered through an alley, cutting across street after street with a squeal of tires and smell of burnt rubber each time he gave a sharp turn. Sometimes he'd catch a glance of a panicked citizen scrambling out of the way of his vehicle, and other times people would watch in awe or even indifference. It wasn't often the batman's car was seen prowling the streets of the diamond district…and when people _did _see it, that usually meant something was wrong.

Buildings whizzed by, the dark concrete and stone look growing lighter, cleaner, and more ornate as he drove along. He saw less graffiti and more banks, jewelry stores, and designer clothing stores.

The diamond district in Gotham was as hoity-toity as they came, filled to the brim with the upper-crust of society and the elite…it should have been obvious this was where the Joker would plan his next ransacking.

The sounds of an alarm wailing and police lights spinning wildly, casting red light in a dizzying pattern, caused the batman to pull the brakes, skidding across the slick, wet street. His eye caught sight of a fire hydrant spewing its contents high into the air, water showering the pavement and any people passing through it to escape.

As Batman stepped out of his vehicle, he heard a chilling laugh spill through the air and froze instinctively.

"Well well! The bat comes out to play today? Good, I could use a second opinion…"

Batman whipped around and saw a grinning Joker staring back at him. The madman's body was dripping with diamonds; rings, necklaces, broaches, everything imaginable. He held out his arm and raised an eyebrow. "Tell me what you think. Too gaudy?"

"Joker, I am not going to play games with you," Batman's stone-cold voice growled as his cape flapped behind him gently.

The Joker smiled wider, as if he needed to smile any wider, and "You didn't answer my question."

Batman scowled. This madman just always had to push him…always had to see how far he could taunt the Bat. Well, Bruce was tired of playing games, and tired of letting him get away. Batman lurched forward, his fist pulled back and tight. As he readied to strike the clown, his eyes went slightly larger and he felt a horribly strong punch to the chest. His body, stopped by the impact, was flung backwards into a somersault. Joker held a retractable punching glove and cackled like a hyena. "I said, you didn't answer my question Batsy! And now look what you made me go and do!"

"I don't need to answer your questions," Batman replied gruffly. His body, still crouched low to the ground, sprang like a panther as he lunged again. He managed to grab around the Joker's twiggy legs and sent the Clown Prince down to the cold, wet pavement with a sickening slap of soggy clothes and skin. Joker squalled with laughter instead of pain as Bruce sat on the man with a fist raised. "But you can answer a few questions of mine."

The Joker sneered and gave a barking laugh. "Okay, okay, but first, I have a joke!"

"You always do," Batman grumbled.

"It's a good one too. Listen: 'What did the bat say when he faced peril?'"

Batman's eyes narrowed as his poised fist faltered and began to lower. He didn't like the delivery of the joke…he highly doubted he'd enjoy the punchline.

Joker's eyes watered as he struggled to restrain his laughter. "Wanna know? 'Nothing! Dead bats can't talk!'" The Joker reached out, a silvery revolver in his hand, and placed it to Batman's face so quickly, the Dark Knight had barely any time to react. Batman jerked his head away, tumbling off the clown, and drew back a few feet as the madman leapt up with maniacal laughter.

He pulled the trigger and Batman clenched his teeth in hatred as a stick shot out, unfurling a flag reading **_BANG BANG BANG!_**

"Oopsies! Looks like I left the _good_ gun at home!" He squealed with utter glee. The Joker reeled back his hand and let loose a punch, hitting the stunned Caped Crusader square in the nose with his bony knuckles. "Guess _this'll_ have to do!"

As Bruce took several steps back, contemplating his next move, he failed to see the clown toss up a round, tennis ball-sized object from his pocket. Joker lit the little fuse and grinned maniacally. "Nighty-night Batsy…"

-------------------

The fight was in full force now; so many were busy scrambling out of the way to notice the gleaming black Hummer that pulled into the shadowy safety of one of the nearby streets.

The driver leaned back, glancing over his seat at the woman in the rear and motioned over to the brawl outside.

"Here?"

"Perfect," she murmured, her face stoic and her gleaming hazel eyes widened just slightly, barely blinking. "Just perfect."

"Ms. Al Ghul," grumbled the passenger, the same body guard from the hotel and the dinner party, "I don't think it is wise to be here. I was given specific orders for your protection and coming here strictly violates—"

"Be quiet," she hissed, glaring at him. "I don't need your protection. Do you fail to remember that my father trained me personally, and I was able to defeat all the men in the League? Yourself included?"

The man's jaw muscle ticked as he recalled his defeat to the hands of a woman and let out a breath through his nose. "No, I remember."

"Then, as I said before, keep quiet or I will not be pleased, and I might as well throw you out _there_ with the bat and that clown. Is that understood?"

"Yes Ms. Al Ghul."

Talia focused her attention once more on the fight, her eyes dancing with glee as the bat received a firm punch to the face. _Hmph…I would have thought with his expertise in training, he would have been more careful._

Talia blinked as the clown pulled something from his pocket. She leaned closer to the glass window, frowning as she struggled to see it.

"Ms. Al Ghul, I…I really believe we should go now."

She placed a hand to the glass, her jaw hanging slightly slack as she quirked her head. _What does he have there?_

"Ms. Al Ghul—"

"Repeat my name one more time and I will—"

She heard a frantic scrambling from the front seat and looked up. The driver was crouching down as far as he could and her body guard squirmed towards her, his eyes wide.

"Get down!"

She blinked. "What?"

"DOWN!" His hands firmly grasped her shoulders and she gave a startled yelp as she and the guard hit the floor, him atop her back. The moment they made contact against the solid car floor, she heard an earth-shattering **_BOOM!_** Followed by the cracking and tinkling of glass cascading around her. Her heart pounded as heat seeped in through the broken windows and she could smell smoke in the air.

"Are you alright, Ms. Al Ghul?" Her guard breathed heavily, but she merely shoved him off and scrambled upright to stare out of the shattered window. All she could see was dust and smoke.

"Get in the front seat."

The man obeyed like a loyal dog and scrambled back to his seat as her driver rose from his crouch.

"Drive back to the hotel. I have seen enough." She looked back out the window as the smoke began to clear. She could hear the insane laughter of the clown as police tackled him to the ground with handcuffs, but the Batman…she could see nothing of what happened to him.

The engine roared to life and soon the Hummer stole off through the night back to her high-priced hotel suite. She felt relief and the end of tyranny by the bat, yet also a bit of disappointment. _The Bat deserved death…but not at the expense of explosives and trickery…_She frowned deeper, her forehead creasing as her perfectly shaped eyebrows drew together. _He deserved a fair fight…I wouldn't have minded handing over his fate personally. _The fact she had also met the man behind that mask, and even enjoyed her meal with him, also sent a strange feeling of guilt in her mind. He was a fine man, doing as he pleased…He was a good fighter from what she heard. It would have been interesting to go against him in combat.

But no. He was a menace that disobeyed her father and "killed" him…he had received his just desserts. Talia looked back over her shoulder at the clearing smoke behind her and saw a large crater in the concrete slowly filling with water from the still-spraying fire hydrant. No doubt the bat was blown to kingdom come. Perhaps now her father's plans would go unhindered.

-------------------

"Hey I was reading that!" A scrawny man shouted as Jonathan's bony fingers latched on to his newspaper and tore it away from him.

"Yeah, well…you have to learn how to share," he mumbled, stealing off to a secluded corner of the room and slumping on to the floor. He watched the other inmates carefully before spreading open the paper across the floor and running his finger along the various articles.

He caught sight of the one he was looking for and hunched over to read it.

_Cont. from page 1_

_brief battle with Batman. The Joker then unleashed a bomb on the street that managed to blow a hole in the sidewalk as well as blast through any windows within range. Debris and glass is still being cleaned up today. The jewelry store owner was able to retrieve half of his stolen goods, but the rest was thought to be caught in the blast and either destroyed or lost among the debris. He will receive insurance compensation for those pieces. _

_It is unsure whether the Batman survived the blast. Pieces of his costume were retrieved but no sign of a body has been found. Officials conclude that he has indeed survived the explosion, though anyone who may have seen the body is urged to contact the police immediately. _

"Well of course he survived. He always survives. Then he swoops back down to terrorize the citizens again." He looked up at a man standing beside him. "Can you believe that?"

The man glared, saying nothing.

Jonathan took this to continue. "I mean honestly, how does he survive these things? Bullets, explosions…he's a regular 6 million dollar man."

Rachel looked over in his direction as Crane continued ranting to passersby. She shook her head, looking down at the newspaper he was reading before glancing up back to him. She felt herself go rigid as the man's eyes locked with hers, piercing her very soul with his cold gaze.

"What are you looking at?" He snapped.

Rachel's jaw moved unconsciously as she struggled for the right words. But she had no time to reply, for she heard a woman's voice asking for Jonathan. The young man broke his gaze and looked past Rachel at the visitor. Rachel, too, looked over her shoulder and spotted a tall, pretty woman in the doorway. A guard pointed at Jonathan and smiled oily as the woman strode through the various inmates. Some of the goons Jonathan had placed in the asylum for Falcone, and therefore the saner of them all, grinned coyly and the young woman, some cat-calling or whistling. Rachel rolled her eyes. Didn't she know a beautiful woman like herself coming in here was like throwing a steak in front of a pack of hungry dogs?

But more importantly, didn't she know who she was vying to meet with? Crane? Why meet with him? Perhaps she was one of those women who write letters to convicts and fall in love with them.

_Ugh_, she thought with utter repulsion as wave of nausea rolled over her, _her? In love with _CRANE? _Gag me with a spoon…_

The woman made her way to the young man, who rose from his spot to greet her in his usual, emotionless manner. Rachel was intrigued at how he could go from madman to gentleman in an instant. The woman cast a look at the paper by his feet and turned back to speak with him. Rachel struggled to listen to their conversation. What would any gorgeous woman in her right mind want to speak to him about?

---------

"I didn't think they allowed inmates newspapers."

Jonathan shrugged. "Well, the good boys get their daily paper. People like me must take it from them."

"I see," Talia murmured, stooping down to pick it up and read the article he had been looking at. "Hm…so the bat is tough to kill…"

Crane snorted, taking the paper from her hands roughly. "Don't remind me." His quivering blue eyes checked to see if the coast was clear before leaning towards her, head low. "May I inquire as to why exactly you are here?"

"I need a look around before coming to get any blueprints. I want to know my surroundings…what I'm up against."

Jonathan shook his head, nodding at the two guards. "Tweedle-dee and Tweedle-dum over there are pushovers. I'm sure you can convince them, though. They seemed to take a liking to you," he sneered. She threw a look over her shoulders at the guards, who still held greasy smiles. Talia gave a noise of disgust and pursed her lips.

"I'll take them out first. Personally."

"And…what about him? It?" Jonathan pointed to the newspaper. "He'll be here."

"We are going to go through with the plans, despite this setback of whether or not Batman is still alive. If he is, he will be busy nursing his wounds or out scouring for other criminals. If he isn't…well…that makes my job a whole lot easier."

"Ms. Al Ghul, if you don't mind me asking…is your father at all involved with this?"

"My father is back home recuperating. He has given me his blessing to continue with his plans. Father believes I can destroy the batman."

Jonathan's lips turned up with an amused grin. "_You_ think he can be destroyed? You think it's _that_ simple? My dear, you have a fantastic imagination." Talia's stone-cold look caused Jonathan to chuckle. "Oh now, now, don't look at me like that. I'm only saying—"

"Do not be surprised tonight if the alarms go off. My men will come for the plans, and I will be back to inform you when you need to be ready."

Jonathan nodded, but as he studied her face, he suddenly latched on to her wrist. Talia turned swiftly, her free hand ready to strike, when Jonathan pointed at her face. "My…where have you been?"

She frowned. "What?"

"You have scratches…here," he pointed to her cheek and looked down at her hand. "And there…on your palm. Care to share with the class?"

Talia smiled, snapping her wrist away from him. "I don't need to explain my whereabouts to you, Mr. Crane. Just do as you are told and we will be best of friends."

"How charming," Jonathan added snidely and smirked as she turned on her heels, her long auburn hair whipping by his face with a pleasant floral scent. She disappeared out the door, only to be jeered on by the guards and inmates. Jonathan shook his head, unfolding his crumpled paper, but felt a strange feeling. The feeling of being watched. He looked up and scowled at Rachel Dawes.

"Enjoying the view Ms. Dawes?"

Rachel smiled. "No. Just wondering what a pretty woman like here was doing talking with you." She shrugged. "Do you pay her by the hour? It must get lonely in that cell."

Jonathan's lip curled in disgust at her accusation as she continued. "Or is she just some other pathetic sap you lured in with sweet talk or psychobabble?"

Jonathan laughed gently, his eyes narrowed at her. "You think she's just another one of my playthings? Another experiment to chalk up on my wall?" Jonathan shook his head, giving up on smoothing out the newspaper. "No, she's…a friend of a friend."

"You have friends?"

Jonathan flushed a bit, and his smile faltered ever so slightly. "Fine. An associate if you will. Don't act so surprised I get visitors." He quirked an eyebrow, putting on that smug expression she hated so much. "I wouldn't be one to talk if I were you Ms. Dawes. You seem pretty alone yourself…"

Rachel stiffened slightly. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Well, I haven't seen pretty-boy Bruce Wayne in a while…and Harvey the Terrible is M.I.A."

Rachel glared at him. "They have busy lives…"

"Too busy for their ill friend? No," Jonathan raised his eyebrows with a knowing look on his face, "that not busy…that's indifference. And why _should_ they care? You're sick…you're just a hindrance…"

"I'm getting better…I…I am!" She snapped, just as the guard roared for them to get up and get moving back to the cells. Jonathan smiled as Rachel heaved before him.

"You keep telling yourself that, Rachel." He reached out, patting the top of her head like one would a dog and pushed past her. Rachel scowled, glaring daggers at the back of his head. That monster…it was his fault she was here in the first place. Her friends were busy with their lives…she didn't blame them.

She blamed him.

Rachel recalled the stranger that came…the pretty woman. Something was up. She knew it. He was far too smug, to cool and casual…the old lawyer in her stirred up. She needed to satisfy this curiosity. She _would_ find out who this woman was. And she _would_ find out what Crane was up to.

* * *

**A.N.**: I'm sorry, loyal viewers, for the lack of updateness or action in the story. My mind is enslaved with school, so I'm a bit low on creativity. Hopefully setting up backstory is alright with you guys :)

Thanks for reading and please review. :)


	8. Panic in the Courthouse

Bruce leaned on the kitchen island with his good arm, eyebrows furrowed in thought as he stared out the small window. The late morning sun filtered through lacey curtains, reflecting a golden light off of the copper bottoms of the pots and pans hung around the walls.

The young man didn't need to look up to feel a pair of eyes burning into him like fiery hot coals. "Please don't look at me like that Alfred," he murmured under his breath, a muscle in his jaw twitching.

"Oh?" The older man averted his gaze to the glass he was cleaning. "Like what, Master Wayne?"

"Like you always do when I come back with a new injury."

Alfred sighed through his nose, holding up the pristine glass and making sure he had gotten every spot. "No, no…I never give you a look. I'm just curious as to see how you'll manage to explain away this one."

Bruce looked down at the arm tucked against his chest in a loose sling and itchy plaster cast.

"…Horseback riding accident?"

"You don't own a horse, sir."

Bruce shrugged. "I don't play polo either Alfred, but people buy it." The older man managed to suppress an eye-roll. "Besides, I think it's a good excuse." Bruce pointed to the stitches on his forehead and smirked. "I…fell off a horse and hit a rock."

"Whatever you say Master Wayne…" Alfred replied dryly as the young man picked up his mug of coffee and headed towards the front door.

"I'll see you later, Alfred."

The butler frowned and turned to follow Bruce. "Wait, sir, where do you think you're going?"

"I'm going to see Harv down at the courthouse. Since Joker got busted, his case with Falcone was pushed back and now he's prosecuting the clown."

Alfred scowled. "Sir, if I may say…you are in no shape to be out in public so soon after this incident!"

"Just remember…horseback riding accident, Alfred." Bruce winked good-naturedly, handing Alfred his mug and snatching up his keys. "I'll be back later, Alfred."

Alfred stared as the door slammed shut and shook his head, shuffling back to cleaning dishes in the kitchen.

Bruce carefully sat in the driver's seat of his Lamborghini, still a little sore. After all, having nearly been blown to smithereens, he had an excuse to be a bit more careful. Bruce tenderly touched his forehead and winced as a stinging pain seared through his skin. He almost died that night…two days ago. He had been out for almost a full day, letting Alfred mend his broken arm and split forehead, and had awoken and gotten most of his strength back yesterday. That's when he heard the news of Joker's trial, and that's when he heard his pal Harvey would be prosecuting.

It was a big day for his friend. Plus, after his ordeal, the least he could do was watch the Clown Prince's trial. He wondered what state the crazed maniac would be in. He was surprised the Joker survived the blast at all, as he was pretty much holding the bomb before it went off. As long as the Joker was tried and found guilty, almost a given in a case like this, Bruce's near-death would be justified in his opinion.

-----------------------------

"Oh my god…Bruce? What in the hell happened to you?" Harvey laughed, though Bruce could sense the concern in his old friend's voice as he approached him.

"Just a little accident, no big," Bruce smiled, slapping his friend on the shoulder in greeting. "It could happen to anyone."

Harvey snorted and stuffed the papers in his hand under his arm. "Jeeze I swear, Wayne…you have got to be one of the most accident-prone guys I know."

"Well, we can't have it all, now can we," Bruce chuckled.

Harvey stood at the doors of the old Gotham City Courthouse, near one of the many marble pillars that created a "hall" leading towards the thick wooden doors. Bruce looked around him and frowned. This place…it brought back old memories…memories he wished to forget. As the young man stared at a certain spot near the middle of the marble floor, he could hear faint sounds…a gunshot…screams…

"So, what are you doing here? Just wanted to show off your new cast?" Harvey smirked, nodding to the plaster-covered appendage. "Wait…don't tell me you want me to sign it or something…"

"Nah," Bruce shook himself from his daze and looked over at the doors as a beefy security guard held them open for people to cram inside. "I just wanted to get a glimpse of that nut you're prosecuting."

"Ah," Harvey replied, looking down at the papers stuffed under his elbow. "Well, you're not the only one."  
"You think you'll win?" Bruce murmured and received another snort from his friend.

"What's the matter with you? Of course I will. I just want to get this stupid case over and done with."

Bruce felt a slight chill as Harvey's lips turned up in a sneer. He couldn't remember the last time his old college friend looked like that. "You okay, Harvey?"

"I had to give up the Falcone case for this," Harvey growled, averting his eyes and staring at the wooden doors.

Bruce blinked a bit surprised. "I thought you'd like getting this case…prosecuting the biggest rogue in Gotham would send any lawyer into a giddy coma."

Harvey shook his head. "I've been working the Falcone case since Rache was institutionalized. I picked it up from her. I guess…I dunno…I just felt I needed to put him behind bars. For her."

The young billionaire exhaled through his nose and nodded. "I'm sure she'll understand."

"Yeah well…I'll tell her next time I see her that if the thug gets out of jail-time, it wasn't my fault." Harvey looked down at the platinum watch on his wrist and cursed under his breath. "Hey, I gotta get inside now. I suggest sitting down soon or the press'll be packing up the place."

Bruce nodded and watched his friend stride down the path with a false confidence, his black leather shoes squeaking slightly. Harvey Dent…despite the puppy-dog eyes and charming face, Bruce knew he had a vengeful streak to him. He wasn't sure what it was, but he had seen glimpses of it before. And Bruce could understand his anger at losing Carmine's trial. If he could, Bruce would have done everything to help Rachel's cause…and he knew that's what Harvey did. It was a shame, but…he was sure Harvey would soon get over it.

Bruce shook his head and hurried to catch up with his friend, casting a look behind him as some of the news reporters approached from behind chatting to their cameramen. He hoped they would ignore him as he quickly turned around and picked up his pace, keeping his head low.

He didn't quite feel like giving an explanation to his mystery injuries just yet.

-----------------------------

The courtroom was in absolute silence, people sitting at the edge of their seats in anticipation. It was a wonder that someone as notorious as the Joker actually _wanted_ cameras in the room as the trial went on. Usually people tried to avoid that kind of publicity. But the bleached white face of the psychotic clown was pulled back in that everlasting red-lipped smile, showing off yellowed teeth that gnashed together as he struggled to contain the laughter just itching to come out. He was dressed in that garish violet suit, which was quite unusual since most convicts came dressed in their jumpsuits. White gloves clad his bony fingers and a bright yellow carnation sat neatly in his breast pocket. Beady black eyes darted around the room and he occasionally trembled. Not from fear, but from holding back the giggles.

To him, this entire trial was one big joke…and he was the punchline. The finishing touch to all this was the fact he was insane. So insane, that it was certain he'd get shipped off to Arkham and escape the death penalty for his crimes.

Harvey glanced up as the judge nodded at him, signaling him to make his closing argument to the panel of judges perched above him by a few feet.

Bruce stared from the back of the room, seated behind rows and rows of press. Occasionally he had to lean over a bit, as someone's head or camera would get in the way. But as he sat back with his arms folded across his chest (or at least slightly folded, as his cast made it difficult to move about), he was able to watch on in intrigue. Harvey was right. The case was airtight, but even Bruce knew capital punishment would be refused. The billionaire's eyes grew stormy as he stared at the back of Joker's frazzled green hair. He saw a bandage on the clown's cheek, and as he was escorted in earlier, he seemed to be suffering from a limp. Batman's instincts kicked in as he studied the clown. He was so amazed at how this man could look so calm and at peace as his crimes were listed before the court. Then again…Joker was no ordinary man.

"Your honors," Harvey began, clearing his throat as he paced before the row of people above him. "I know I'm not the only person here that can see the Joker is clearly mentally unstable. But that does not excuse him from his crimes. He clearly knew what he was doing as he robbed banks and jewelry shops at gunpoint, as well as nearly blowing a crater right in the middle of Gotham's diamond district—"

Harvey flinched slightly as he heard a squeaking laugh and turned his eyes to the Joker. The clown pursed his lips and sank into his chair as the judges frowned at him. The leading judge motioned to Harvey.

"Please continue."

"As I was saying, Joker's list of crimes is clearly thought out, and ranges from robbery to cold-blooded murder—"

Another laugh, this time louder still. Harvey snapped his head in the Joker's direction and heard the judge clear his throat.

"One more chuckle from you and you will be extradited from this courtroom."

Joker clapped his hands over his mouth and bit his lip to keep from laughing.

Harvey didn't wait for permission to go on. "Cold-blooded murder. And he obviously holds no remorse for his actions—"

"**_Pffff-Ahahahaaahaha!_**"

Harvey threw up his hands as the courtroom buzzed with whispers and rang with the loud sharp _thunk_! of the gavel.

"Order! ORDER!"

The Joker was practically rolling on the floor, tears in the corner of his eyes as he howled in laughter. His lawyer looked absolutely bewildered and struggled to keep the crazed clown in line.

"That's it. Get him out of the courtroom."

"No! No!" Joker cackled, waving his gloved white hands. "Please I'll…**_heehee_**…I'll be good I swear. I just wanted Mr. Dent to hear a funny story of mine."

Harvey glared and shook his head, placing a hand to his forehead. He looked up as the guards were pulling Joker to his feet, still laughing like a lunatic.

"I was…I was just thinking…**_hehehahaa_**…about, about that girl who used to be DA."

Harvey's expression went slack and his hand slipped down his face.

"She…she was a cute girl. It's a shame…**_hehe_**…a shame she got sent to the funny farm. Not that there's anything funny _about_ the funny farm." Joker's eyes narrowed, tittering with giggles. Harvey took a step towards him as the guards placed the clown's arms behind his back.

"What did you say?"

"You know…it's gonna be fun when I get to Arkham." The clown's red lips curled up as far as humanly possible, perhaps even more. "And I'll bet she'll say the same thing."

Bruce felt his body stiffen and straightened up in his row as Harvey stood dangerously close to the Joker. If his past actions were any signal, he was sure Harvey could belt him across the face without a second's hesitation. But the lawyer knew better. He had to keep his cool. He couldn't stoop to Joker's level.

"Aww," the clown cooed, smiling at Harvey. "You really gotta learn to lighten up, pal."

"Get him out of my sight," The judge snapped.

"Before I go…at least make this guy gimme a smile."

Harvey frowned deeper. "You heard the judge."

Joker's beady black eyes grew hard and he gave a slight giggle. "Smile big, Mr. Dent."

Harvey stared for a moment, trying to process the Joker's words, when something very cold and wet splashed in his face. A stream of clear liquid squirt from the yellow carnation and found it's mark on Harvey's skin. The lawyer stumbled back in surprised and raised his hand to block the water. But it only took a split second to realize that it wasn't water.

Suddenly, the cool liquid grew hot. Scalding hot, burning. He stared, one of his eyes blurry in vision, and all of the sudden unleashed a horrible cry of pain. The Joker was cackling uncontrollably as the security guard tackled him to the ground. Everyone in the court was on their feet, camera's flashing, and some were scrambling to get out.

Bruce was not one of them. He was shoving his way past, his heart thumping in his ears as he heard a loud clatter up front. The judges were being ushered out, and left alone on the floor was Harvey Dent.

"Harvey!" Bruce squeezed through the crowd and skid to a stop by his friend. The young man was writhing on the floor, twisting and contorting in agony, one hand clutching the left side of his face. The back of his hand was blistering and raw, a strange pinkish gray color. His fingers clawed wildly, his feet thrashing and digging against the marble floors. He swore profusely and cried out, an excruciating sound that sent a cold chill down Bruce's spine.

"_God someone! PLEASE! Get…get it off!_" Harvey howled, managing to pry his hand away just enough for Bruce to see the extent of the damage. Half his face resembled the skin on his injured hand, practically melting off the skull like wax. Bruce looked on in horror and turned quickly, waving his uninjured hand to get someone's attention, but everyone was busy being ushered out. He grit his teeth and pulled out his cell, dialing madly.

"Hello? Yeah, there's an emergency down at the courthouse. I need an ambulance here right away!" Bruce barked out the directions and snapped his phone shut. He turned back to his friend, whose movements were slowing. Harvey's good eye seemed to be glazing over as he stared up at his friend. Bruce blinked, listening as the Joker's laughter faded off in the distance. "Hey, Harvey…you're gonna be okay. Listen to me, alright?"

Harvey shook his head, his body trembling violently. "Can't…can't feel…face…" he managed to mumble.

"We're gonna get you to the hospital okay? Harvey?"

The young man said nothing. He simply laid on the floor, shaking and convulsing, barely able to keep the hand on his face still. Bruce ran a hand through his hair and glared back over his shoulder.

"_Where the hell is that **ambulance**_!"

The young man jumped as his phone buzzed in his hand, but quickly shook himself out of his stupor and answered it.

"Hello?"

"_Master Wayne,_"

"Alfred I'm a little busy now. It's an emergency."

"_I'm afraid you're going to have to add another emergency to that list._"

Bruce sat very still, his eyebrows furrowed. "What do you mean?"

"_There's been a break-in at Arkham._"

-----------------------------

Talia Al Ghul stooped atop one of the many grotesque gargoyles crowning the top of Arkham. Alarm bells rang loud and shrill through the air, but Talia didn't seem to care in the slightest. Her face was obscured by the black mask the League of Shadow members all wore. She turned and stared at three men, all dressed in black. One held out several cardboard tubes and nodded.

"Good," she murmured and pointed a slender arm towards the city. One of the league members frowned.

"Ms. Al Ghul…what about the bat? He will surely be here any minute now."

Talia smirked behind her mask and gave a laugh in her throat. "He will not bother us anymore."

"And the police?"

"They are busy. A crisis down at the courthouse," she smiled wider. "Now, we meet back at the hotel. I want you to study every inch of those blueprints until every corridor, visiting room, holding cell, and office is ingrained in your memory."

They bowed to her and stole off across the rooftop. Talia cast a look across at the buildings surrounding the massive asylum. With one swift movement, she bounded after the others, graceful and silent. The guards had been knocked out easily and after managing to get to the main office of the asylum director, they were able to confiscate the building's floorplans. Doctor Crane was growing impatient after she had to push back the plans a day. It wasn't like she wanted to plan it…something had 'come up'.

At least she had been able to convince the Joker to cause a distraction at his hearing. In fact, Talia was quite anxious to see what havoc the crazed jester managed to create. Her hearing perked up at the sound of distant sirens and she smiled to herself.

'_I know now why father was so focused on this city…they just don't know how to give up…_'

* * *

**A.N: **Sorry again for such a long gap. I was gone for Spring Break and had little time to write much of anything.

Hope you guys liked the chapter. I could totally see Joker using a fake squirting flower to get at Harvey. And, for the use of it in this plot, Talia needed a distraction of sorts. So...voila!

Enjoy :) And please R&R!


	9. Change of Plans

**A/N:** I'm so sorry for this super long wait for an update. School was messing with my brain and sucked out all creativity. I wasn't even sure if I'd **MAKE** a new chapter.

So thanks for being so patient you guys. I tried to make this a little more of a transitional piece, and wanted Crane there somewhere so...yea. Enjoy! Please R&R:)

_

* * *

_

_This all seems familiar._ Bruce threw a look over at the hospital bed containing the body of his friend Harvey Dent. _Too familiar…_

"**_How did I let this happen, Alfred?" Bruce murmured, shaking his head. "I knew…I should have helped her. I should have been there sooner…"_**

Bruce stared at Harvey's face. Or…at least what should have been his face. The young man was practically mummified; bandages wound around his face and obscured his visage and his left hand was so burned from the acidic liquid that Joker had doused him with that it too needed to be wrapped. It now lay flat against Harvey's chest, rising and falling with each breath. Bruce slumped over in his creaky seat, placing his good hand to his face and letting his elbow rest against his knee. He should have known the Joker would pull a stunt like this…one final gag before being locked up in Arkham for good.

The young man's stormy blue eyes flickered up at the clock and he sighed. He had been here in the hospital overnight, waiting for his old friend to wake up so he could talk to him. Harvey had been slipping in and out of consciousness, but Bruce was either out getting a breath of fresh air or had nodded off for a quick nap when Harvey was alert. Yet it was always for a few split seconds. Never long enough to hold a conversation.

Bruce frowned deeper. He would have to tell Rachel about the accident. Hopefully she wouldn't find out from one of the inmates…more specifically Crane, who would love to use this juicy bit of gossip to torment her. Bruce wanted to be sure it was he who broke the news to her. Gordon, too, was devastated by the attack. The young DA and older cop had grown to become friends…it was a hard blow to him.

But right now, Bruce had to contact Lucius. He was supposed to have a meeting today about Talia's merger and…

Talia.

Bruce closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. He had completely forgotten…what with nearly being killed and then taking care of his injured friend. Thinking just wasn't coming to him easily, it seemed. He would tell Lucius to apologize for him. After all…Bruce Wayne was still a playboy, even after all this drama. And Playboys don't apologize themselves.

Besides, all he cared about now was his friend lying in that hospital bed…strung up with tubes and wires everywhere. "You should have stuck with the Falcone case, Harv…" Bruce murmured quietly to his incapacitated friend. "Not like you had a choice." He pressed to a stand from the rickety maroon hospital chair, brushing off his suit, and hovered over the other man's body. "Rachel will understand…and she'll be proud of you, Harv."

"Mr. Wayne?"

Bruce calmly glanced at the door as an elderly nurse in clean white scrubs entered the room. She pushed her black cat-eye glasses up her nose and clasped wrinkled, age-worn hands before her. "We need to change Mr. Dent's bandages…and, I think it'd be wise for you to leave the room. We can call you when we're done."

Bruce hesitated, looking down at Harvey, before nodding in agreement. "That's fine. I need to make a few calls anyways," he murmured, meandering out the door and into the bare hospital hallway. The fluorescent lights were painfully intense after being in the dimly lit room all night, but Bruce's eyes quickly adjusted. He brought out his cell phone, his eyes following a man as he passed him in the hall. After punching in a few buttons, he placed the phone to his ear and released an angry breath through his nose as the ring buzzed through the speaker. It rang only once before a female voice answered.

"_Wayne Enterprises, how may I help you?_"

"Morning Jessica, this is Bruce Wayne."

"_Oh! Good morning sir,_" the cheerful secretary on the other line twittered. "_And how are you today?_"

Bruce ran a hand through his hair, allowing himself to lean his back against the cold, sterile walls. "Not so good. Hey, Jessica, do you mind patching me in to talk with Lucius?"

She laughed again. "_Not at all, sir. One moment please._"

Bruce waited as she transferred the call, tapping his foot on the tile floor until the phone picked up.

"_Mr. Wayne, nice to hear from you. We were getting worried after you went missing on us for the past few days._"

"Sorry Mr. Fox, I had a little accident…horseback riding."

"_Mmhmm…I see_." Bruce could just see Lucius shaking his head at the pathetic excuse, but he would never question Bruce's activities. For that, he was very thankful.

"And…if you haven't noticed the news, a friend of mine was hurt in that attack by that freak in the courthouse."

Lucius grew quiet, allowing Bruce to listen as the nurses worked in the other room. Finally the older man cleared his throat. "_Is he alright?_"

"They're fixing him up now. That's why I'm calling. I don't think I'll be able to make it to the meeting today. I'd like to stay here and make sure he's okay."

"_I understand, Mr. Wayne. I let the board know—_"

"And Mr. Fox," Bruce cut in quickly. "Please…let Miss Head know I apologize for not contacting her myself about this whole mess."

This time Lucius gave a gentle chuckle, barely audible. "_Will do, Mr. Wayne._"

"Thank you Mr. Fox." With that, Bruce snapped the phone shut and let his head fall back, hitting the wall gently. Without moving his head, Bruce stared at the door containing his bed-ridden friend.

_When I took up being Batman…I knew this sort of thing would happen. But…not to Rachel…not to Harvey. Who's next?_

---------------------------------------

Talia strode down the rich ivory carpet and deep mahogany-lined corridor, her head held proudly and her hips swaggering haughtily. She left her bodyguards in the elevator, deciding to make the trip to the board room herself.

Talia grinned. It would be a bit disappointing to not see Mr. Wayne's charming, handsome face again, but it was a small price to pay for revenge at its fullest. That little hubbub and the courthouse gave her and her men just enough time to swoop in and get the blueprints for Arkham. Tonight, she'd get one of the League members to create a ruckus farther away from the asylum in order to break Crane out. Then, she would complete what her father had started. Purging the sins of Gotham through fear and chaos.

A chill swept over her as she drifted past Jessica the secretary and pushed open the door to the board room, spotting Lucius instantly as he was the only man in the desolate room.

"Good morning, Mr. Fox," she said, her voice a sultry tone. "And how are you this wonderful day?"

"I'm doing just fine, Miss Head. And you?" Lucius asked politely and gave her a nod, motioning to the seat beside him.

"Excellent," she gave a small laugh, placing her hands on the back of her seat. Her eyes, however, focused on the spare chair opposite her. It seemed to be vacant one very important person. Talia resisted the urge to grin.

Lucius noticed her gaze and cleared his throat. "I'm sorry, Mr. Wayne will not be joining us today. Or for a while, for that matter. I suppose we'll have to finish this deal ourselves."

Talia quirked her head, concealing the look of smugness on her pretty face and instead masking it with feigned concern.

"Is he alright?" Talia purred, sitting down in the chair. She knew very well he wasn't. He was dead. She had seen it happen: the explosion, the Joker…everything. The bat was dead. And so was Bruce Wayne.

"Yes, Mr. Wayne seems to have had a riding accident," Lucius murmured, picking up a manila folder from the desk and squinting as he studied its contents.

Talia hesitated, blinking a few times. No. She couldn't have heard him correctly. Talia gave a nervous laugh and smiled, her full red lips thinning slightly. "Oh…wait, what?"

The older man looked up from his folder, frowning. "That's right…" Lucius shook his head. "I don't think the tabloids got hold of this 'revelation' sooner. I'm afraid Mr. Wayne had an accident horseback riding. Not to mention that he's in the hospital after a stir in the courthouse today."

"Yes," Talia breathed, struggling to keep her composure. "It was th-the accident with the lawyer, right?"

"Mm," Lucius hummed in agreement. "He's over there right now making sure his friend Mr. Dent okay. He called a few minutes ago…gave me the go-ahead to start the transaction without him." Lucius lifted his eyes, but Talia was no longer looking at him. She was staring out the window behind him. Her jaw hung slightly and her fingers were wrapped around the arms of the chair in a death-grip as her caramel-colored face paled slowly.

"Ms. Head? Are you alright?"

"I…I…" Talia shook her head and rose quickly. "I should go."

"What?" Lucius asked, bewildered, as the woman shifted the purse on her shoulder. Then it hit him. Of course she wished to go…probably to call and see if Mr. Wayne was alright. After all, the news had come as a surprise to her. The older man inclined his head and sighed. "Well, I…I guess this is your money, and you can invest it whenever you please." He gave her a faint smile. "Have a nice day. Oh," he added quickly, causing the young woman to turn around again. "Mr. Wayne…when he called earlier, told me to extend an apology…for not contacting you sooner."

Talia stared at Lucius, her eyes searching the older man's face until she finally jerked her head around. "Thank you," she murmured, stealing out of his presence. Lucius sat in puzzlement and set the folder down on the table, pressing his fingertips to his lips in thought.

The second the door to the reception's desk closed behind her, Talia was leaning against the wall, her heart pounding in her ears.

Alive.

He was still alive. Talia curled her trembling fingers into her palm and shook her head. "He can't be. He had to be dead," she breathed. Bruce Wayne was dead! She broke herself from her disbelief and stumbled down the hall towards the waiting elevator where her bodyguards stood at attention. The two men glanced down over their glasses at her, taking in her trembling, pale appearance as she folded her arms, glaring at the elevator doors as they closed before her. Neither man dared to speak, sensing something very wrong with Talia.

That feeling was confirmed when she gave a piercing yell and balled her fist, slamming it against the metal doors of the elevator with a loud thud.

"You two were there!" She snarled, wheeling on the two men. Both blinked and stared at her as her body seemed to twitch with rage. "You saw Batman die. We all saw him die, correct?"

The men looked at each other before returning their attention to Talia. "Yeah," one growled. "So?"

He had no time to react when her palm connected with his face and Talia pointed at him, her finger pressed to his nose.

"Address me with respect. I am in no mood for this."

"Yes, Miss Al Ghul," the man murmured again, his face turning red from the slap and from embarrassment.

"Good," she continued, as if nothing had happened. "Then you will be just as surprised as I was to hear the bat is still alive."

The other man quirked an eyebrow. "Then what about the plan with Dr. Crane…Miss Al Ghul?" He added quickly, so not to receive the same punishment as his comrade when her eyes flashed with anger.

"I will speak with him today. He's just going to have to deal with the fact that plans are changing. Once Batman is out of the picture…we can proceed."

Talia managed to calm herself down slightly as the doors slid open, revealing the posh marble and steel lobby of Wayne Tower. She strode out of the elevator at her usual proud gait and held her nose high, her auburn hair floating behind her as she walked. Her bodyguards followed, one pulling ahead of her to open the door, the other walking behind her. She was halfway out the door when startled from her thoughts with the buzz of her cell phone. She snapped it up to her ear and barked out a sharp, "What?"

"_Is that how you always answer your phone?_"

The rest of the color from Talia's face drained on the spot and she straightened up immediately.

"N-No. I'm very sorry."

"_Will the plan commence tonight?_"

Talia swallowed back a lump in her throat "No…unfortunately not. Some unforeseen troubles have arisen."

"_Troubles?_" The voice growled. "_What sort of trouble?_"

Talia took to murmuring something in a foreign language as the two guards threw looks at one another. They could hear the voice on the other line growl out something in gibberish. Talia nodded frantically and quickly said her goodbyes, closing the phone and clearing her throat.

"You," she pointed at the man behind her, "go to the suite, explain the situation to our men. You," Talia whipped around and nodded to the other, "are to come with me. We are going to Arkham. Now."

"Yes Miss Al Ghul," both guards bowed obediently and Talia quickly followed behind her driver.

---------------------------------------

Talia cleared her throat, causing the man at the desk to jerk his head up and blink at her. "Excuse me, I'm here to see Jonathan Crane."

Arkham's lobby was completely empty save for the guard watching the screens in front of him. Talia and her bodyguard threw a look at each other as the security man stared her up and down. The man shrugged her off and looked back at the screens before him. "Sorry. No visitors."

"I _think_ this is important."

He snorted, chewing some gum idly. "I _think_ I don't care."

Talia's hazel eyes flickered with suppressed anger as she leaned against the desk, her hands flat against the surface. "I think you _should_ Mister," she quickly glanced at his nametag, "Young."

The man smirked at her, a look of disinterest crossing his face. "Listen, sweetheart. Threatening me won't help. Crane's been unruly the past few days, and his safety was questioned after the break, so the director locked his scrawny ass in solitary. He can't get any visitors." He snapped the piece of gum in his mouth, much to Talia's annoyance, and turned back to the monitors.

Talia made an angry noise in her throat and reached in her purse, producing a large stack of new $100 bills. The man stared at the money, his eyes widening slightly as his hand slowly moved to a button on his left. A loud buzz rang through the room and the metal door opened slowly. Talia smiled and dropped the money on his desk.

"Pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Young," she purred as she strode down through the door, her hips swaying with each step. The man smiled wider, leaning over his desk slightly to let his gaze follow her down the hall until he heard the large bodyguard give what sounded like a snarl. Young gulped loudly, choking slightly as he felt himself swallow his gum, before slumping quietly into his chair and thumbing through his new fortune.

------------------------

Talia waltzed down the rows and rows of cells, her heels clicking against the dirty linoleum floors. She could hear screaming, thumping, incoherent babbling…it was a disturbing mix of terror and insanity. She was sure Crane had done most of this mental damage, though, when he was still the director of the asylum…so pity wasn't up in her idea of importance at this moment.

Talia paused at the far end of the building and stared at a heavy iron door marked **Cell 13**. "Hm…how fitting." She quickly looked over her shoulder, making sure she was in the clear, and pushed open the door.

Crane lay flat on a wobbly cot, his body sunk into a lumpy yet stiff mattress, and his left arm dangling off the side. He ran a slender, bony finger across the padded floor in a figure 8 pattern or series of swirls. He seemed so preoccupied that Talia wasn't sure if he had heard her. But the second the door opened, his hollow blue eyes gently moved upwards, locking on Talia's figure as she shut the cell door behind her.

"You made quite a stir here yesterday, Miss Al Ghul," he murmured, not bothering to stop his swinging arm as he doodled on the floor. "Reckless…reckless…"

"We need to talk, Crane."

"Because of you, I got stuffed in this cell…and recreational time taken away."

Talia rolled her eyes. "This is more important than your little play time."

"Rec time was the only time of the day I got to do anything useful. Anything fun. And thanks to you, they think maximum security patients must be locked up to ensure their 'safety'…" Jonathan snorted in disgust. "The bastards…" he growled to himself, clenching his drawing hand for a split second before relaxing and resuming his little scribbles.

"I mean it, Crane. This is important. It's about tonight."

Crane sighed through his nose, looking as if he wished she'd just get out, but managed to push himself up with wobbling arms and slouched as he sat on the edge of his cot. He pursed his full lips, now chapped and peeling, and straightened up, looking as he always did when conducting business of any sort. Professional. "Fine…fine. What is it?"

"We ran into some trouble concerning the Batman."

Immediately Jonathan's eyes flashed and he kept his gaze riveted on her. "What sort of trouble," he snapped, tensing slightly.

"It seems Gotham's hero is…alive."

Jonathan's eyebrows furrowed as he shook his head in disbelief. "W-what? You said he was dead. You told me he…he…it was in the news! You said—"

"Well he's still alive, Crane," Talia replied quickly, folding her arms and staring up at the ceiling. "I should know better than to take things for granted."

Crane turned away, his jaw slack as he racked his mind for ideas. "…but…but it won't matter. He was caught in the blast…that's for certain. So…so he's probably injured…he probably can't fight." Jonathan looked at Talia as she stared at him. "We…we can still get out, right? You…_you_ can still get me out…right?"

Talia flipped her hair over her shoulder and shook her head. "Crane…it would be far easier to keep you here."

"WHAT!" Crane yelped. "What do you MEAN? Easier? For whom? YOU!"

"I've been ordered to let you stay here until further no—"

"By who?" Jonathan shrieked. "Who gave you that order?"

Talia scowled. "That's none of your business. You are to stay here in Arkham until we can get the job done. Properly." Talia waved her hand flippantly. "I am growing very tired of this game the bat is playing, and I'll be sure to deal with it per—"

Jonathan's lips curled as he leaned forward, his eyebrows drawn together in an intense glare. "This isn't a game, Miss Al Ghul," he spat, practically foaming at the mouth. "This is my _life_ you are gambling with!"

"Your _life_?" The woman's eyes canvassed the cell, searching each inch of the padded walls and bare cot. She snapped her attention back to Crane and smiled slightly. "_What_ life, Doctor? You live in an asylum. Your days are spent in this pathetic cell or over in that rec room with drooling, babbling idiots, most of them the result of your little experiments."

Jonathan trembled out of rage as she spoke. Demeaning him. Always demeaning…

_**Always…**_

"My experiments…were successful, if that's what you are aiming at," the young man whispered, struggling to keep his temper in check. He swallowed hard, tightening his fingers into a fist. "And I don't see what insulting me will do, as we are conversing about your inability to break me out of this hell-hole."

Talia smirked wider. "My inability? Oh, no, Dr. Crane…you have that all wrong. It's not that I am unable to break you out, it's just that I believe I'm starting to realize why my father dropped you from his project."

"I wasn't dropped—"

"Oh," she laughed coldly, rolling her head back on her shoulders, "that's right. You went crazy."

**_There she goes again, Jonathan…insulting your intelligence. Shut her up, Jonathan…_**

"I'm…I'm not crazy," Jonathan growled, his breathing growing quicker and shallower.

Talia shook her head, leaning forward. "You are a pawn we are willing to let go. We do not require your assistance. At this time, at least. So until we deal with the _bat_, you get to keep your straightjacket on for a bit longer."

Jonathan was on his feet in a flash, sending the young woman reeling backwards.

"**NO!**" He roared, his fingers curling and writhing as he spoke and moved towards her. "You will NOT let me stay here! This was a deal! YOU cannot BREAK the deal!"

"Take one more step and I break more than just the deal, Crane," Talia hissed, prepared to strike him if he attacked. Jonathan brought his hands to his hair, clutching at it as he gave her a pathetic, confused look.

"Y-You can't…can't keep me here!" He yelled, his voice cracking. "I can help you! You said I'd get out!"

"Lower your voice!" Talia yelped back, but the man was in a panic. He paced the floor, his eyes wild as he screamed at her.

"You're just as cheap and unreliable as your wretched father. He didn't see the potential! The potential of this city! WEALTH! Wealth beyond imagination! We could have had Gotham in the palms of our hands!" He groaned, stretching out his hand and making a grasping motion to emphasize his point. "Don't you see! We could be rich!"

"Wealth?" Talia laughed. "And what would wealth have gotten you? Did it give you happiness before, Mr. Crane?"

Jonathan glared at the floor. "Doctor—"

"No! You're no doctor. You're useless. Father told me about you…"

Jonathan stopped pacing and snapped his attention to her.

"Yes, he told me so much before I came here. Do you honestly think I didn't know a thing about you? You…always dressed to the nines with your pristine leather shoes and pressed suits. Did dressing well make you happy? What about the Lincoln Towncar? Or the charming penthouse you owned…with the money you spent on that place you could have fed a third-world country." Jonathan's eyes narrowed as his body slowly turned to face her. "Money, Mr. Crane, is obviously no good to me. Just look where it landed _you_."

_**Show her, Jonathan. No one speaks to the Scarecrow like that…NO ONE.**_

"Shut up," Jonathan snapped.

Talia smirked "Excuse m—"

"SHUT UP!" Jonathan lunged in a fit of rage, surprising the young woman, but missed her by a mere inch. He reached out with his gangly arm, wrapping his hand around her ankle. Talia cursed and swung her free leg, striking him across the jaw with a well placed kick. She managed to slip out of his grasp as he swore at her, picking himself up and charging at her again. Talia slid through the metal door, slamming it shut immediately, and cringed at the deafening thud from the other side.

At first, she thought the young man had knocked himself out with that sort of force. But soon she heard thumping…merciless hammering against the metal. And yelling.

Jonathan bit his lip, slamming his fists against the steel door. "_NO ONE TALKS TO ME LIKE THAT_!" He roared, pounding, pounding, pounding his hands against the steel until his arms felt like gelatin…weak…tired. His fists screamed in pain, but the sensation was dulled with each blow to the metal. "Not you!" Jonathan felt his teeth sink into the soft flesh of his lip and tasted blood, but his body continued to thrash. "Not your father!" He was sure every bone in his hand was cracked, but nothing could faze him. "**_NO ONE!_**"

With one final punch, Jonathan slipped downward, his forehead against the cool metal, and crumpled into a heap on the floor from exhaustion. Every ounce of his energy had been expended in that split second attack…every ounce of energy he didn't have. Malnourished and feeble from his life in Arkham, he just couldn't handle it.

His shoulders heaving with shallow, ragged breaths, the young man fell face down, his expression blank and empty. Sweat rolled down his brow, mingling with his greasy dark brown hair and dripping onto the padded floors to mix with the blood leaking from his split lip. He could hear the guards barreling down the hall, coming in to restrain him. He didn't care. Jonathan drew his legs up slowly, hugging his knees around his chest as he clenched his jaw behind tight, thin lips.

Talia watched from the small window and stared at the man as he lay very still in the fetal position. She looked over at her bodyguard and Mr. Young as the reached her, but held out her hand. "I'm fine."

The men frowned and the security guard motioned to the door with his chin. "And him?"

"Tired. Probably injured." Talia stepped back, revealing the window displaying the battered young man in his cell. "Persistent fellow, isn't he?"

"You don't know the half of it, lady," the guard chuckled. "You sure you're okay?"

"I said I'm fine." Talia glanced through the glass once again and watched as Crane seemed to be speaking to himself. Perhaps it _was_ wise to keep Crane in his cell…it seemed he hadn't lost the edge of insanity and was still volatile. No matter. She didn't need him. He would have been helpful, but he _was_ an expendable resource. She could find others to help house her father's league members and keep their secret.

"Perhaps you should check up on him when he's in a better mood," Talia breathed. She pulled her shoulders back, whipping her auburn hair behind her, and snapped her fingers, pointing to the exit. Both she and her bodyguard walked away as Mr. Young stayed positioned at Crane's cell in case he decided to throw another fit.

Jonathan blinked as he listened to the woman's shoes clicking down the hall, growing fainter and fainter until she was gone.

Gone.

Everything was gone. His opportunity…his chance at freedom…gone.

**_Don't act so pitiful, Jonathan. We don't need her, do we?_**

Jonathan kept quiet, his body throbbing with pain and the remnants of anger starting to fade.

_**Jonathan…JONATHAN! **_

"No…we don't…don't need her," Jonathan murmured through bloody lips, flexing his fingers and wincing as a sharp pain ran through them.

_**We can get out ourselves, right?**_

"Yes," he breathed, cupping his good hand over his ear and moaning. "Yes we can."

**_Yes…because you are bright…very bright Jonathan. Such a good boy. You don't need the likes of her to bail you out. Nasty, vile woman…You can handle it yourself._**

"I'm a very good boy. Very…very smart. I know I…I can get out. I know I can."

_**Of course. And the bat?**_

Jonathan stared at the opposite wall, his gaze dead and empty, and never blinked once. "We kill him if he tries to stop us."

_**Excellent idea, Jonathan. See? And she thought you were crazy…**_

"She was wrong," Jonathan whispered, his lips curling in a faint smile. "Very…very wrong."

_**And when we get out…what will we do to show her she's wrong?**_

Jonathan emitted a small titter of laughter, hugging his knees tighter. "We…we take back…everything; our reputation, our money," Jonathan smiled wider, despite his eyes narrowing, "and our dignity. Talia Al Ghul and her father will rue the day they crossed the Scarecrow."


	10. TwoFace

**A.N.:** Another chapter up. Weird...it takes me one or two days to write it up, but a week to even think up a storyline. ; sorry about that folks. Once again, thanks guys for the positive support so far. I'm pleased with how well this whim-story was received and appreciate each and every review. You guys rock!

So, once again, I hope you like this story. And please review and tell me what you think. All opinions are helpful and I truly take what people suggest into my thinking process. Never know when a suggestion of yours may show up in the story ;)

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_Dreaming. I had to be dreaming. Nothing could explain this other than a dream._

_No…perhaps dream is the wrong word._

_Nightmares._

_Yes…_

_People, voices, sights, sounds, colors…everything swirling, melding, screaming in my head. I remember pieces here and there…like the drive to the courthouse. I remember flipping through my folder on the Joker. _

"_Total nutcase." _

_Even his picture was insane. White face, green hair, and an everlasting smile. That damn smile._

_I remember tossing the folder in my briefcase before stepping out of the cab. I had enough of that smile plastered across the news-stands, across the television, everywhere I looked. Enough was enough. Time to put another madman behind bars._

_Too bad that madman wasn't Falcone. Yeah, I was still bitter. I knew this was an open and shut case, but to bring down Carmine's empire in Gotham…that victory would have been so much more rewarding._

_Everything shifts. I remember stepping up to the stand, face to face with the devil incarnate himself. The Joker. It was hard trying to stare him down when he smiled all the time. I felt sick. I wanted to rip that smile off his face. A killer like him should never grin again._

_Then…then there was heat. Burning pain. It was faint at first, but the intensity flared up in an instant. Oh…oh god that pain. It felt like someone was holding my face over an open flame…I could feel the skin peeling and dripping off my skull like wax. I couldn't stop it, I tried, I tried so hard. My hand was shaking from pain, whatever was on my face was on my hand as well. It was useless. I couldn't move. That's when I could hear screams. Screams of horror and screams for help. Bruce? Was that Bruce? I could have sworn I heard him calling for an ambulance. _

_It's so hazy there. Things start going black. I can see him…one eye is blurred and hurts when I look at the lights above._

"_I…I can't feel me face…"_

_I don't think he heard me. My voice…it sounded so different. Pathetic. Weak._

_Now I feel cold. So very cold. Am I dead? I can't be…how could I be thinking if I was dead? _

_**I wouldn't let nothin' happen to you, Apollo.**_

…_that voice. I know that voice._

**_Course you do. You know me, Harv. You know me very well._**

_I feel a stiff fabric under my good hand, my fingers grasping for support._

_**Shh…don't fidget. Don't wake up Harvey…**_

_Why?_

_**Well, you don't want to frighten the nurses do you?**_

_My throat tightens and I grip harder for the fabrics. Frighten? Frightened of what?_

_**Don't be so coy, Apollo. Frightened…of big bad Harvey Dent.**_

_I don't know what you're talking about!_

_**You know EXACTLY what I'm talking about!**_

Harvey's eyes snapped open, wincing at the searing white lights over his head. He felt something in his throat and choked, bringing up his hand to his lips. A breathing tube. Harvey grunted, struggling to hold back the gag-reflex as he grasped the tube and pulled it out of his mouth. A fresh gulp of air and Harvey was back to staring at his surroundings. Blue-green tiles lined the walls, a curtain separating him from the rest of the world. Weak eyes slowly drifted upwards, focusing on the vague image of beeping electronic devices. He glanced down and saw that he was wearing a white hospital gown and was covered up to his middle in abrasive, rigid sheets.

_Hmph…so I wasn't dreaming everything._

_**Of course not, Harvey.**_

Harvey blinked and swallowed hard, his throat dry and scratchy. Or perhaps he was _still_ dreaming. The young man lifted his right hand lethargically, bringing it up to head and rubbing his eye. Tubes and wires stuck out of his arm and chest, he noted as he studied his hand. Harvey let his fingers wander over his face. Nothing out of the ordinary. Smooth skin, he could still see, and his hair fell limply against his forehead. Harvey's hand strayed across the rest of his face and his breathing began to pick up.

Bandages wrapped around his face. He closed his good eye and saw that vision in his other eye, albeit blurred, was fine. That was a good sign. Harvey stared at his left hand and noticed that it too was bound in white bandages. What was going on?

_**Don't you remember, Harv? The flower that squirted in your face?**_

_What about it?_

_**Acid, Apollo…guess the clown's got good aim. Hurts, don't it?**_

_N-No…not really. I…I don't feel anything._

_**Probably killed any nerves you got left.**_

Harvey's lips trembled as he continued to pat down his face, an expression of disbelief growing.

_No…no this can't be—_

_**Happening? Well it is…**_

Harvey shook his head numbly, eyes wide with horror. _No! NO! What's happening! What's going on! What about my job! I can't work like this…I can't…I can never work again?_

_**Oh, Harvey. You know that answer already.**_

_But what about Joker? About Falcone? What happens to them!_

_**Well, Joker's in custody I'm sure. But Falcone…well…not too sure about him.**_

Harvey felt his eyes water and took in a deep, shaky breath.

_So…that's it then? I…I just give up? My career. My life. Everything gone because of that…that freak melted my FACE!_

**_That about sums it up. _**

Harvey stared up at the ceiling, his breathing short and shallow.

_**Then again…**_

_What?_

_**Well, who said anything about your career being over?**_

Harvey frowned as best he could behind his bandages.

_I can't work anymore. My face was eaten away by acid…do you honestly think anyone in their right mind would want a lawyer like me? I'm ruined._

_**Ah, too true. But that doesn't mean you can't start over.**_

_Start over? From what? I have NOTHING!_

The voice fell quiet in his mind for only an instant. **_You have me._**

_And…who are you?_

Harvey gave an audible gruff chuckle and blinked, clapping his hand over his mouth. He hadn't meant to laugh. Why did he laugh?

**_I'm you Harvey Dent. I'm everything you dream to be and do…and more._**

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

"He awake yet?"

"Not that I know of…" Bruce murmured quietly, his eyes wandering from the hospital room door back to Jim Gordon.

"I found out yesterday…would have been here sooner but I was tied up at Arkham."

"Yeah, I heard about that. The breakout during the incident at the court."

Jim shrugged, glancing over his shoulder as a nurse chatted with one of the doctors. "I guess criminals have good timing. While everyone focused on Joker, they took a chance." He looked at Bruce, who was trying his best to look bored. He couldn't let Gordon know he was intrigued by this. Jim took the bait and cleared his throat. "Sorry…I must be putting you to sleep with all this cop talk."

"It's fine Mr. Gordon."

"Please, call me Jim," said the older man, smiling faintly. He brushed his mustache with his fingers and adjusted his glasses. "When'll they let us see him?"

"The nurse told me a few minutes," Bruce yawned, watching as the same nurse waltzed past him towards the room. "I saw a surgeon go in a second ago. Probably to check on his face and hand."

"Did they give you any information?"

Bruce shook his head. "Nothing I haven't heard already. He's permanently scarred."

"Poor kid."

Both men jumped suddenly as a scream ripped through the hall. "The hell?" Gordon snapped and took off towards Harvey's room with Bruce hot on his heels. The door swung open before they could reach it, and the nurse stared at the approaching men in terror. "Get security!"

Gordon skid to a stop and looked past the woman, staring into the room. Everything looked fine. His eyes drifted to the floor and stopped when they landed on a pair of legs sticking out from behind the hospital bed. Bruce also stared at the legs and turned to the nurse. "Is that…Harvey?"

"No, that's Dr. Carlson! Mr. Dent is gone!" She threw her hand back and pointed at the man behind the bed. "And he killed him!"

Bruce was flabbergasted. "That…that can't be." The nurse pushed past him, fleeing down the hallway towards the nurse's station at the end and barking orders to get security down here immediately.

Bruce made his way into the room, sliding the curtain back and feeling his stomach go cold. The blankets were tossed away, and the bed was draped in wires and tubes from the machines, now holding out a long high-pitched tone signaling that the pulse was gone. Jim sidled up beside Bruce and sighed, passing his hand through his hair.

"This isn't good."

"Could it…it could have been from the medicine right?" Bruce asked, peering over the bedside. The surgeon lay still, eyes open wide and Harvey's breathing tube wrapped tightly around his neck.

"Medication…it's possible. Probably didn't know where he was…saw a man coming at him with a scalpel…"

"Harvey's smarter than that, Jim," Bruce uttered darkly, placing a steadying hand on the metal bar of the bed.

Gordon nodded and folded his arms. "I know. That's what worries me."

Bruce looked at the open window and frowned. He had to have escaped through there. Otherwise he would have been seen. Bruce scanned the room and saw Harvey's clothes, his shoes and the suit he had worn at court, were also missing. "He took his stuff."

Gordon turned slightly, looking at the where Harvey's items had been neatly folded. "Why would he do that?"

"I don't know." Bruce brought his hand to his forehead and closed his eyes. "Excuse me Jim. I should get going. I still have to talk to Rachel about this whole mess."

"Are you sure that's a good idea, Mr. Wayne?" Gordon asked as Bruce headed out the door. "In the state she's in?"

Bruce paused and looked back at the older man. "She needs to know. She'd kill me if she found out before I could tell her myself." He gave the policeman a nod and disappeared out the door.

He would talk to Rachel. But first, he needed to change. He didn't want to have to take long. Once he was done with Rachel, he'd go straight to searching for Harvey. He couldn't have gotten too far in his state. The man was on morphine, half his face was gone, and he was dressed in hospital drab. It wouldn't be hard to find him.

Then again in Gotham, nothing was ever that easy.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

_Where am I going?_

_**Just keep walking, Harvey…keep walking.**_

The young man stumbled through the dark alley, clutching his left arm and wincing with each step. His face was still bandaged, but he had managed to change out of his hospital gown. His face had taken most of the acid, therefore leaving his suit unusually intact save for a larger hole or two from the liquid running down his face. Harvey stopped and leaned his back up against the wall.

_I can't keep running. I'm tired…_

_**You just killed a man, Harvey.**_

_You told me to._

Harvey laughed again, a barking sound. "'You told me to?' I think you mean _you_ told _yourself_ to." Harvey groaned and placed his head in his hands, forcing himself to push away from the wall and continued down his erratic path.

_What's wrong with me?_

_**You're going crazy. Plain and simple, pal.**_

Harvey peered around the corner of the alley and stared at the marble steps leading up to the law firm he worked at.

_Used to work at._

_**Why are we here, Harv?**_

"I need my things."

_**Like?**_

Harvey Dent was thankful for the cloak of darkness surrounding him as night fell over Gotham. His injured half was hidden from passersby while his good eye scanned for anyone looking at him. Harvey started up the steps and felt his pocket for keys. "I need some files. I left some money in my desk. Anything of value and importance to me."

_**Well I suggest we hurry up.**_

_Why?_ Harvey returned the conversation to his head when he entered the building.

_**We don't want anyone to see us.**_

_I don't think we have to worry about that…_the young man thought as he stared at the dimly lit hall. Lucky for him, everyone had left for the night. Not many people liked working late shifts, except Rachel when she was around. Now only the glint of an desk lamp carelessly left on was seen here and there. The janitor would take care of that. Right now, Harvey needed to gather his things before the cleaning crew appeared.

The young man slipped into his office, thankful he had left his keys in his suit pocket that day in court, and headed for the desk. Rummaging through the filing cabinets as quietly as he could, he felt a slight agitation and urgency to hurry.

_**This is taking too long…**_

_I need to get my things._

_**Your friends will have sent the police. Bruce. He was in the hospital since you were admitted.**_

_Bruce stuck around that long?_

_**He'll know you're gone…and I'll bet that guy Gordon you like so much will know too. The entire GCPD will be on our tails. And may I remind you about the dead man on the hospital floor?**_

_Alright, alright. Just gimme a second._

Harvey picked up one of the many briefcases on the floor and stuffed some manila folders in it; papers about some of his cases, several documents on Falcone, and a few of his own papers, like his ID. Harvey twisted around and slumped onto his office chair, searching the desk before him.

_**You're not through yet.**_

Harvey blinked and glanced down at the drawers by his side. He yanked the top handle and opened the first drawer. _…what am I looking for?_

_**You'll see.**_

Harvey began to rummage through the mess of papers, a stapler, some rubber bands, but suddenly froze as something cold touched his fingers.

_**Ahh…there we go…**_

The young man's fingers wrapped around the object and pulled it out of the drawer. His handgun. He always kept it there…just in case. _Wh-why would I need this?_

**_Why else? This is Gotham, baby. You'd be an idiot not to be packin' some sort of protection._**

Harvey quickly stuffed the gun in jacket and moved to stand when something caught his eye. A faint gleam of silver, peeking out from behind a stack of papers on his desk.

_**Take it.**_

Harvey was in a trance-like state as hesitantly reached forward and picked up a large silver object…a coin. _My coin_. He let his thumb brush the raised face on the coin. He flipped it over and saw an equally pristine face staring back at him. Harvey stood very still, holding the coin in his palm and studying it in the light.

_**Harvey.**_

The young man stared up and caught his reflection in the glass window of his door. He frowned, cocking his head like a curious puppy, and brought his bandaged hand up to his face.

_**Are you afraid?**_

_Afraid? Of what?_

_**Of seeing the true you?**_

…_No._

He placed the coin down on the table and began unwinding the bandages on his hand. It felt like ages before he finally exposed his injuries. The skin was raw, pink. Pits and bubbles of skin showed were the acid had eaten away. Even his tendons were more visible. His hand looked skeletal. He was surprised to realize that, even while flexing his fingers, he felt no pain. Harvey then took a frayed end of his face bandage and sucked in his breath. Did he want to see it? He knew it wouldn't be a pleasant sight…but he had to. He just needed to see…

Harvey's hand slowly twirled above his head, loosening coil after coil of thick white bandages. His movements grew quicker as he neared the end of his dressings. _Get it off…I gotta get if off…_Pulse racing, heart thundering in his chest as he let the final curl of bandages fall from his face and onto the desk.

Harvey's eyes were wide as he passed his right hand over the gnarled skin on his face.

_No…_

_**Don't be so vain, Apollo. I like it.**_

_No._ Harvey backed up, staring in terror at the window of his door. His skin was sagging, gouged and red from his burns. His lip was curled in a sharp snarl, eaten away by the acid, and his hair…Harvey passed a hand on the top of his head and choked out a pathetic noise. Frayed, sticking out wildly, patchy and horrible. _Oh god no…Wh-what did that monster do to me!_

_**What did I say about vanity, Harvey?**_

Harvey's hands roved around his face in disbelief, fingers shaking and clawing at his skin. "No…no…NO!"

**_Harvey be quiet! Someone will_**—

Harvey grasped the letter opener on his desk and plucked the coin up in his left hand.

_**Harvey…what the hell are you doing?**_

The young man held the coin in his palm and put the tip of the knife against it. Rage could not come close to what Harvey felt. Hatred…Fury…he began gouging his letter opener against the thick metal of his silver dollar. His good half smiled as wickedly as the disfigured half as the pristine surface began to show faint scratches. The knife often slipped on the coin's surface and dug deep into Harvey's hand, but he felt nothing. The dead nerves in his skin wouldn't allow it.

"**_You're bleeding._**" Harvey hissed, eyes darting to the trickle of blood slowly dripping to the floor. His expression dropped once again to disinterest as he continued to slash at the coin.

"I don't care."

"**_You know that isn't working._**"

Harvey held up the coin and laughed, pointing at it with the letter opener. "Oh I think it is." The scratches, though small, were clearly visible. Harvey's attention snapped up when he heard the sound of footsteps. "Night crew."

"**_Let's get out of here._**"

Harvey snatched up his briefcase, pocketed his coin and letter opener, and bolted from the office. He saw the shadow descending from the stairwell and immediately ducked out the front door just as someone entered the ground floor behind him. Harvey flew down the firm's steps, veering in a half circle, and down the same alley he had just come from earlier.

"Where do we go now?"

"**_We? Ah, warming up to me already Harvey?_**"

"Unfortunately you're the only one I have right now."

"**_Your place. Get what you need. We go to Arkham tomorrow._**"

Harvey's pace slowed as he shook his head. Had he heard himself correctly? "Arkham? Tomorrow? Why?"

"**_We need to talk to your friend Rachel._**"

"Rachel has nothing to do with this."

"**_Don't worry, Dent. I won't hurt her. Or should I say you won't hurt her. No…we need to get some information._**"

"About what?"

Harvey felt compelled to look at the briefcase in his hands. "**_You put Falcone's file in there._**"

"What?" He murmured. "Why…why would I do that?"

"**_Why would you do anything you've done so far, Harvey? You're stuck with me because YOU got ordered to take over Joker's case. You lost Falcone's trial. Do you honestly think a man like him didn't pull strings to get you traded off?_**" Harvey's eyes lit up as if a light had turned on in his mind. "**_You see? Now…who's fault is it that you look like this? Certainly not the Joker's. No…Falcone. His fault._**"

"How could I not have seen this…"

"**_Jaded by anger, I suppose. Now, your little friend Rachel knows all about Carmine. After all, she was assigned to him longer than you were. Talk to her and we…_**"

Harvey's lips turned up in an eerie smile as he picked up his gait, aiming for home. "Find Falcone."

"**_Kill Falcone. Cause a little stir. Like I said, Harvey my boy…we start over. Only this time…it's you and me against the world. We know how the world works._**"

"I like how you think."

"**_Likewise._**"

Harvey bolted down the alley, one hand gripping the suitcase while the other fingered the coin in his pocket. His eyebrows narrowed into a frown as he felt the smooth metal and turned the corner. "But…but it could get ugly. I mean…what about…" He grunted and shook his head madly. "I used to be Harvey, Mr. Good Guy. I don't know if I can…"

He felt a growling chuckle rise from his throat and took out the dollar, looking down at it for a fleeting second.

"**_Getting second thoughts already? Tsk tsk, Harvey. You know as well as I do that there's a fine line between good and evil. Who's to say what's right and wrong, boy? Perhaps a little help in deciding is what you need._**" Harvey nodded and stowed the coin back in his pocket. "**_We leave tomorrow. Now…get your clothes together, get any money you have, anything of value that we can pawn off. And we'll need help._**"

"Help?"

"**_Our visit to Arkham may prove to be even more fruitful than we thought._**"

"…fruitful? Oh...don't tell me I'm gonna start using puns now…"

He grunted again, smiling. "**_Just keep runnin' Apollo._**"


	11. Escape!

**A.N.:** Wow, I'm so sorry this took so long to get out...I was screwed when school started and was on vacation for two weeks before that, so I had no time to do anything! I hope you guys still care about the story to read and review it. Thanks so much for being patient:) you guys rock.

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Jonathan Crane's body was as taut as his weak muscles would allow without feeling the pain of his slow internal disintegration; long knobby arms were crossed around his scraggly frame, skin clinging to his figure, keeping his knees drawn to his chest and his chin resting on them. His hair was pushed up and out of his eyes, allowing the blue irises to stare into the empty room and consume the world around them. He wasn't in a straightjacket, surprisingly, but it was probably because of good behavior. He had been in a vegetative state and barely blinked when someone brought in his meals.

It was a seedy smile, however, accentuated with snarling teeth glistening below his curled upper lip that gave his pale, sallow face a malicious appearance as he sat like a statue on the stiff mattress in his cell. He wasn't shocked at all by the recent turn of events, knowing he would have his recreational time taken away after his little outburst with Miss Al Ghul. That's why he was still in his room in the first place, no longer allowed outside until he was deemed stable enough to handle the "responsibilities of free time," as they put it. Oh Jonathan tried to convince them that it was a solitary incident and would never happen again. But for some reason, they didn't believe him.

**_And you had such a pretty, honest face Jonathan…_**

Movement. The simple twitch of his fingers and the slight faltering of his smile, but for only a moment. Jonathan may have been keeping his mouth shut since the incident with Al Ghul, but that never stopped the darkness, the creeping voice in his mind, from spreading through his very countenance. A shadow had been cast over him since that event only a few days ago…so depressing and thick was his demeanor that even the guards seemed hesitant to disturb him while he was in his thoughts.

**_As they should_**, he purred to himself, glancing at the thin sliver of window in the door with piercing eyes…eyes that displayed the madness within. **_It's none of their business to know what we're thinking, right?_**

The young man let his head bob in agreement, raising his hand to brush away the fallen hair in his eyes. Jonathan was no longer in control anyway. That outburst had broken him, broken any strings of sanity he had clung to since his achingly slow recovery at Arkham. She had broken him. To mock him was one thing, but to betray him, as Talia had, was another.

The thought had just fluttered through his empty mind when the door shifted under his gaze and a timid attendant poked her head into the room. Her frizzy dirty-blonde hair was up in a ponytail, and she looked like she was wearing makeup. **_She must be new. No one with experience wears makeup in an asylum. There's no one to impress._**

_Perhaps she wishes to look her best._

**_Save it for the streets of Gotham. Right now…it's time for some fresh meat, Jonathan…_**

"Good afternoon, Jonathan," The girl smiled in his direction as nicely as she could, but he could practically smell the fear emanating from her. Her countenance poured forth the emotion he so longed for and needed as she quivered for an instant when he said nothing to her..

Jonathan watched the girl with blank, dead eyes, not even bothering to follow her as she edged herself into the room. Why bother…she would just dump the food beside him and run. Like all the others. He stared at the doorway and sensed her presence beside him as she moved into his peripheral vision. "Mr. Crane, I brought you your meal."

Not even a blink on his part.

The girl pursed her lips and placed the tray beside him on the bed, but did not move. Jonathan's mind picked up and filled his thoughts with a flow of questions. Did she think he was harmless? Did they honestly fail to mention how unstable he was? Perhaps the sight of him curled into a quivering ball gave him an innocent appearance, like one would see in a frightened child.

_**Come closer, girl…a bit closer…let the Scarecrow taste your fear…**_

"Are you hungry? Maybe…a little food'll make you feel better."

Jonathan resisted the urge to snort with laughter. She talked to him like a simpleton. He wasn't stupid, only…a bit out of his mind.

"I know this isn't the best food out there, but it's better than nothing."

_**No my darling, no. Food will not satisfy this hunger. Only screams. You foolish child, you do not know what you're up against.**_

"Mr. Crane?"

Suddenly it looked like a light went off in Jonathan's mind. She was so trusting…perhaps not to such an extent as he hoped, but she was new. She was young. She was perfect.

"My book."

The attendant opened her mouth, but closed it quickly and blinked, staring at Jonathan, then at the room around her as if she wasn't sure where the voice had come from. Jonathan smiled thinly to himself and arched his back, giving it a painful crack and stretching his arms out before him to do the same. The girl inched back slightly from the man on the mattress and cleared her throat. "Y-your…what?"

Perhaps she was surprised he was speaking to her, as she hadn't heard him say a peep since she arrived. A bit slow in the head maybe, but a charming girl. She a refreshing face in the sea of burly, borderline-insane guards that he deduced she would be a safe person to speak to. As well as a tempting new creature to manipulate.

"My book. The only book I read during my recreational times." He flexed his fingers in front of him and threw a look at her. "_Great Expectations_. Perhaps you've seen it in the library. What's your name?"

She raised an eyebrow, shocked that an inmate at an asylum was even capable of reading such a book, and perhaps more surprised that he was asking for her name.

"Oh, well…my name's Jessie."

"Ah, lovely name. Now…my book?"

The girl furrowed her brow and searched his face, looking for any tell that he may be joking or simply rambling.

Jonathan smiled wider. "Just because I'm in this cell, miss, doesn't make me an idiot. I'm perfectly capable of reading such a book. Now, I'd quite appreciate it if you would kindly pick up the pace and bring me the damn book."

Jessie looked bewildered and made a few sounds before blurting out a soft, "I'll check with the director and see if it's alri—"  
"For a trivial object like a book? My dear, I'm not suicidal…and even if I was, do you honestly believe I can fashion an elaborate death trap out of a simple book? What, I'll slit by wrist and die from a terrible paper cut? I have nothing to do, I can't eat, can't sleep…the least you could do to ease this downtime is bring me my favorite book."

She stared at him some more. A man with such an educated way of speech doesn't belong in an asylum, and Jonathan Crane was as educated as they came. He certainly wasn't an idiot, and he seemed pleasant enough. She had been warned by other nurses about him and his temper, or about the odd way he smiled and stared at them and the guards…as if he could read through your skin and bone and peer at your very soul. He was dangerous, but…not suicidal, like he said. A book…a book never hurt anyone.

Jessie worried her lower lip with her teeth, standing a foot or two from him as he continued to smile and quirk his head at her. It was alright, it had to be. Just a book. "O-Okay…_Great Expectations_, right?"

"Yes, Jessie."

The girl shivered, not liking at all the way he said her name. The sooner he got his book, the sooner she could go on break. Jessie turned without another word, hurrying out of the cell and leaving behind the tray of food with him.

Jonathan waited until the door slammed behind her before twisting around and deftly picking up the spoon on his tray.

_**The library is down the hall, another hall, and the book is on an upper shelf. Approximately 2 minutes tops if she is walking normally.**_

_She's trying to get away from me. 1 minute or less, I guarantee you._

Jonathan took the spoon up to his mouth, sticking it between his back teeth and carefully positioning his mouth on the plastic utensil before snapping his jaws shut and shattering the spoon. The shrapnel from the plastic bit into his tongue, but there was no blood and the pain was dulled with the adrenaline screaming through his veins as he spat the broken pieces into his mashed potatoes. Jonathan held the object in the air and inspected his handiwork. The spoon was gone and all that was left of it a blunt handle. Jonathan stuck it back in his mouth, tilting his head and snapping it again , this time at an angle. Now left with a sharp plastic "shiv", Jonathan made sure the extra pieces of plastic utensil were concealed in his food and shoved the object in his sleeve. Yes, today was the day. The day he'd been hoping for. He listened as the footsteps returned outside his door and returned to his position, keeping his legs pinned against his chest and his face hidden behind his knees.

The cell door swung open once again and the attendant held a ragged book in her hands, blowing a fine layer of dust off the top. "A little old—"

"Old and dusty is fine…" Jonathan gave her a small smile, unfurling his legs and cocking his head at her. "Usually the attendants ignore me when I ask for things. Why didn't you?"

"Well, you seemed bored. Besides, I'm sure the others are just following protocol, Mr. Crane," she smiled back, holding the book out towards him.

"No, it's not protocol. They simply see it as a chance to get back at an old boss…they hated me, you know."

The girl nodded, recalling an old story told by one of the head nurses. "Hate is a strong word, but…I think I remember them telling me something. You used to be the director here, right? You ran this asylum," she murmured, watching as he let his fingers curl around the binding of the book slowly. His fingertips brushed with hers, causing her to pull back instinctively.

"_Used_ to be the director? _Used_ to run the asylum?" His eyes grew colder, freezing over in the dim light of the room, and the smile on his lips stretched into a sneer. "My dear…I still _am_ the director. And Arkham…Arkham is _still_ **_mine_**."

Like lightning, Jonathan leapt to his feet before the girl had time to react. With a swift, fluid movement, he brought his arm around and felt the corner of the book in his hand connect with her skull. Jessie collapsed backwards, not much as uttering a shriek because of the quickness of the attack. She thought he was too weak to do anything other than sit, eat, and read that old book. How wrong she was. Jonathan knew the young woman wouldn't turn down his simple request for a book, so it was simple to use that bit of sympathy for him against her. He had been planning a way out, and his hand-drawn map was still tucked in the spine of the book. It was the perfect opportunity.

_**The idiot has handed you your freedom on a silver platter, Jonathan.**_

Jonathan caught her by the arm before she fell too far back and spun her around in a circle, using his long leg to trip her up and slam her face-first into the ground. Jessie made the first noise she had since the attack, a harsh grunt, and sucked in her breath in preparation to scream her lungs out only to feel Jonathan's knobby knee come down hard on the back of her neck, pinning her against the floor and cutting off her airway.

"Do not move, do not breathe, and do not even dare to scream, Jessie. One noise and I _will_ break your neck," Jonathan hissed in her ear, his greasy hair falling into mad eyes. "Do you understand?" She made no agreeable sound, only gagged for air and pawed at the ground with her free hand. "I said DO YOU UNDERSTAND?" He gripped her hair in his fist, jerking her head up and allowing her to gasp in a ragged breath. She coughed and began sobbing wordlessly, her eyes wide and staring at him as best she could in such an awkward position.

"I shall take that as a yes. Excellent. You're new, so I feel the need to explain that fraternizing with inmates, even in the most platonic and serene of settings, is prohibited. And do you know _why_?"

Jonathan placed the book on the ground by her head and allowed his broken spoon to slip down his wrist and into his awaiting hand. Pressing the thick, sharpened edge to her neck, he gave a mirthless chuckle. "_This_ is why. You never know when the person you speak to is a drooling vegetable who thinks he's the Queen of England, or a homicidal maniac who knows how to utilize things around him to get what he wants."

The girl choked, trying to move her head away from the pointed object at her neck. "N-no…pl-please…"

Jonathan leaned his head close to hers again, taunting in her ear. "And do you know what I want, Jessie?"

The girl sobbed and shook her head, begging for him to stop. "Not that! P-pl-please!" she whispered breathlessly.

Jonathan tilted his head, grinning. "What? You…oh no, darling, no…that is not the reason you are here. No see, my desire is not of the flesh, my dear…and besides, such a fleeting moment of pleasure will not help me survive here at Arkham. No, you've already given me what I need. But to get out of this cell, I need assistance."

She stuttered, tears forming in her lashes as some began to roll down her cheeks. "You're t-trying to break out of h-here?"

"Questions, questions…goodness me, you are a curious one aren't you? Do us a favor and open the door. Then you can scream and holler all you want if I choose not to slit your pretty little throat for asking too many questions."

The girl sobbed again and shook her head. "Please don't…I b-beg you pl-please…"

Jonathan opened his mouth, ready to scold her for her pathetic begging; that it made her look weak and even easier to manipulate. But something caught his attention for that instant, tearing away his thoughts from Jessie. He frowned, lifting his heartless eyes to the ceiling, and watched as the lights flickered. He felt Jessie wriggle again under his knee, but her pleas fell on deaf ears. He was intently staring at a fluorescent tube high above his head on the ceiling, a scowl settling on his face ever so slowly.

"Something is wrong…" he murmured, glancing through the window of the cell door as the lights in the hallway also dimmed.

"Wh-what is it?"

"Shut up," he snapped at the woman, drawing his "weapon" back against her throat just enough to nick the skin. The second he did so, everything went black as if on cue.

Jonathan tried to gather his wits as he stared around him the best he could. He wasn't dead or unconscious, at least he didn't think so. No…he could still feel the girl's neck under his knee and her hair in his fist. Most certainly alert and fully alive.

"What's going on?" She whimpered, trying to turn her head to look up at him. "What happened to the lights?"

"Exactly what I'm wondering…" Jonathan listened as the heavy sound of footsteps rang down the hall.

**_Someone running down the corridor. For her._**

Jonathan swore under his breath and leapt to his feet again, groping for the book on the floor and taking the girl with the other hand. "Open the door."

"Wh-wha—"

"**_OPEN THE DOOR!_**" He roared, making his way through the dark towards the door. He knew his quarters well enough to visualize where the steel entrance was. He pressed behind her, making sure to keep her close as she fumbled with the lock blindly. "What part of 'open the door' is so hard to comprehend?" He snarled in her ear as she gave a shudder and finally shoved the key into the door and yanked on the bar to open it. He heard a loud clatter as the bolts opened one by one and gave a barking laugh. "Well, it looks like you _are_ good for something, hm Jessie?" Jonathan flung her back over his shoulder and listened as she yelped hitting the ground. Perhaps she twisted something.

**_Oh well…the darling should have been more cooperative._**

_Indeed._

The young man hung by the now unlocked cell door, waiting until the footsteps were nearly in front of his cell, when he suddenly slammed his shoulder into the steel to fling wide the entrance.

There was a resonating thud of flesh against metal and the guard who had been running down the hall crumpled to the ground in a heap of unconsciousness. Jonathan poked his head into the hall, enjoying the cool rush of air hitting his face instead of the stifling presence in his cell.

He spotted a beam of light rolling across the floor and figured it to be a flashlight that had fallen from the guard once he was knocked out. As Jonathan gripped the book in his hand, blindly working his narrow fingers into the binding of the book to retrieve his map, the other hand grabbed the mobile flashlight.

_**Hurry Jonathan, the girl is still in your cell…she'll get up and pull the alarm.**_

"There is no alarm," Jonathan murmured to himself, whipping around and slamming the cell door closed just as Jessie let out a screech for help. "Or it would have gone off. The emergency lights are not even on. For some reason the generator hasn't started up yet."

Jonathan shone the flashlight on the man on the floor, then into the cell through the window. The girl was rising to her feet when the light hit her, and she froze like a deer in the headlights. "Going somewhere? Sit on the cot now." Jonathan hissed at her, grinning like a loon, and stooped back over when she had obeyed his order. Jonathan snatched the taser in the guard's pocket and sniffed at it indignantly. "So we meet again…stupid piece of—"

Jonathan heard a shout and knew the guards were rounding up to make sure everything was alright. He went back to the cell window and waved to the young woman. "Before screeching like a banshee, be sure to get this man out here some medical attention. He'll have one hell of a headache tomorrow, that's for sure. Good day to you, miss." Jonathan gave a sweeping bow, dropping his book to the floor with a thunk and tearing off through the hallway, his light bouncing in the darkness. He had what he needed, his hand-drawn map of Arkham. Now all he needed to do was follow the escape route he had planned. He knew this place like the back of his hand, anyway.

The wails and screams of the inmates echoed through the dark, sending a rush of adrenaline through him.

_**What a delicious sound, hm? They're so afraid…afraid of the darkness, Jonathan…**_

The young man smiled lopsidedly, skidding around a corner and nearly falling over before catching his footing and continuing. "Well, although it is a delight…I'm simply curious as to how. The generators should have started up by now, the delay isn't this long…why aren't they? Especially at night, when the need for light is most important." The fleeting thought of Talia crossed his mind. Had she returned? Had she caused this power failure to happen in order to break him free? No…she was too prideful. She had already disgraced and humiliated him. It was something else…something that he was intrigued to find out.

Jonathan slid to a stop at the stairwell and listened closely to the eerie silence around him. He knew that the director was already home by this time of night. And no guards were upstairs in the office areas. Excellent. It was the perfect opportunity to retrieve his personal belongings that had been confiscated.

Jonathan bolted up the stairs, keeping his flashlight poised on each step and skipping over one or two thanks to the long stride of his lanky legs. His footfalls echoed off the concrete walls, and he panted heavily as the manic grin on his face stretched to unnatural proportions. He was almost out…he could taste the freedom…the freedom of getting away from Arkham.

---------------------------------------

Rachel Dawes was nearly asleep in her cell, though she could never truly fall asleep here. Not with the leers and stares of the guards watching her every move. She hated it, hated them all…she just wanted out.

It was then that the humming fluorescent light in her room flickered and died. Rachel's quivering eyes shot up to the door immediately, thinking it was one of the guards and his stupid jokes. But it was pitch black, utterly dark. Her heart leapt into her throat as she slowly sat up on her cot, gazing around the room. Power failure? Here?

Rachel pushed herself off the bed and shuffled across the concrete floor, her head tilted curiously only to hear the sound of soft footsteps. She sucked in her breath, listening to noise outside her door. Calm, well placed and even; steps not at all panicked or frantic like she would have expected. Perhaps it _was_ one of the guards up to his antics.

Rachel pushed the thought out of her mind and slowly backed away from the door, her heart still thundering in her chest. Even if it was just one of the attendants, she didn't want to be anywhere near the door.

It was then she was sure her heart would burst as she heard the cell door clatter open and squeak on its rusty steel hinges. Then there was no sound. Only the noise of her breathing and her heart pounding in her ears.

She felt her lips move and found her voice, breathing out a pathetic, "Who's there?" and closing her eyes as her voice betrayed her and cracked.

"Hello Rachel."

Rachel's eyes shot open and stared into the shadow. "Who…h-how do you know me?"

There was a gruff laugh. "Don't worry, Dawes. You're in good hands."

---------------------------------------

Jonathan cursed under his breath as he opened rummaged through the desk of the director. Where the hell were his belongings? He had looked everywhere! The closet was empty, save for some rolled up blueprints for an idea of a new wing that should be added to Arkham.

"Puh, like Gotham would ever pony up the money for _that_."

He had already combed through the desk with precision, but there was nothing. Not a single trail of where the director had left his things. Jonathan glanced quickly around the room, craning his head around to look at a storage cabinet beside the closet. He blew an irritated breath out of his nose and scrambled towards it, flinging open the doors. It had been hard enough to get _into_ this room, and he didn't need to make it more annoying by playing "Hide and Seek" with his belongings.

Jonathan stared at the bare cabinet and cursed aloud. Resting his head on the shelf and breathing raggedly. "This is ridiculous. Where the hell did this nitwit put my things?"

"You look lost, Crane."

The sound of the hammer of a gun being pulled back caught his ear and Jonathan froze. **_So…not every guard had gone to check up the other inmates. Well done Jonathan. Biggest blunder yet…assuming too many things._**

There was nothing he could do. To take on an armed guard would be suicide. What did he have other than his own fists and a stupid little taser to escape?

Jonathan's quivering hands slowly rose up by his ears as he stared at the empty cabinet in front of him. So close…so close to tasting freedom.

The voice emitted a gruff chuckle behind him. "Don't gotta put your hands up, Crane. This ain't no robbery."

There was a loud clatter, followed by a gentle rolling sound that came to a stop when Jonathan felt something hit his heel. His heart raced and mind scrambled to assess the situation.

_Tear gas?_

_**Bomb?**_

Hesitantly, Jonathan tore his gaze away from the shelves and dropped his eyes down, pausing when he saw his feet. A silver cylinder rocked gently near his toes, the moonlight streaming through the slats of the blinds and casting a gleam off the polished surface. A crude yellow label taped onto the object was clearly displayed as Jonathan slowly tilted his head to read it.

**WARNING**

**70 Phen. Solution**

**#665829**

Jonathan swallowed back a lump in his parched throat, wincing at the sandpaper feel and dragging his gaze over towards the darkened doorway. "This is mine."

"I know. Got my hands on it earlier. Thought you might be looking for it." There was a rustle of clothing as the man behind him stuffed the gun back in a holster. "Go on, pick it up. We need to get—"

Jonathan smirked, shaking his head and laughing softly. "Do you take me as some sort of fool? You probably gassed an attendant and want my prints on the can…just to lock me up again. Is that what you want, _Mr. Dent_?" Jonathan laughed again as he turned fully, his hands now back by his sides. A puzzled Harvey Dent stared at him from his spot in the shadowed doorway. "Oh, did you think that hiding in the shade was clever? That I wouldn't be able to tell who you were? No, I know your voice well enough. Ingenious idea, though. A very dramatic entrance, if I do say so myself."

Harvey ambled his way from the dark into the moonlit office. "Do you have to be an ass about everything, Crane?"

Jonathan pushed greasy dark strands of unruly, unkempt hair from his frigid blue eyes and quirked his head to the side as he got a first look at Harvey when hints of light illuminated the man's face. "My, my, Mr. Dent," he purred, a sneer crossing his lips, "it seems you had a little _accident_, did you?"

"Well you're not lookin' so hot yourself, Crane," Harvey moved forward, taking Jonathan's chin in his hand and jerking his head sharply to the left. A dark bruise with yellow tinged edges stuck out against his pasty-white skin. Jonathan's eyes narrowed and he struggled to gain back control of his face. Harvey snorted in contempt. "Rache told me some brod you been seein' did a number on you." He laughed roughly and shoved Jonathan back a few steps. "And here I thought it was a double entendre. Happy to be proved wrong, cause I really can't picture a chick in any sort of intimate proximity with you." Jonathan resisted the urge to snarl. "Though it's nice to see a girl that throws better punches than I do."

"It was less of a punch and more of a stiletto," Jonathan hissed, stooping down and grabbing the silver canister while, at the same time, keeping his eyes locked on his adversary.

Harvey rolled his shoulders back, throwing a look over his shoulder.

"Whatever. Just get your stuff and let's get out of here."

"Get out of here?" Jonathan muttered as his fumbling spidery fingers dealt with the Velcro straps of the canister, latching it onto his arm. He wiped his clammy, oily forehead with shaking palms then smeared the sweaty residue on his bright orange jumpsuit, leaving a streak on the material. Immediately his eyes locked on Harvey's. "Am I supposed to believe you're here to help me?"

"I could have shot you," Harvey murmured, shrugging as he held out a circular object in his hand. Jonathan stared at the pristine head of a silver dollar, frowning, and turning back to Harvey. "Luck came out in your favor. Now do you want to get out of here, or should I just lock you back in your cell? Maybe flip the coin to see if your luck has changed?"

Jonathan stared Harvey down, studying the severely scarred half of his face with intrigue. Every inch of melted skin spoke volumes, etched with deep gouges and pits where the skin and muscle had been eaten away. His hair was frayed and patchy and his eye was glazed over in a milky white film…bloodshot…

"What happened to you? You look like hell, Dent."

"That doesn't answer my proposal," Harvey muttered through his teeth, half his face pulled back in a sharp snarl. "Are you coming or not?"

"Why are you helping me?" Jonathan growled, only to feel Harvey grab his collar and hoist him into the air effortlessly.

"Honestly, Crane, I ain't here for you. I'm here for Rachel."

"Dawes? That brownnosing little nuisance?"

Harvey glared at him. "Watch it, or I give you a broken jaw instead of a pretty bruise…"

"…did you do this? The power outage?"

Jonathan hollered as he fell from Harvey's fingertips and knocked his head against the edge of one of the cabinet shelves. "Yeah, so hurry up."

_**Go with him, Jonathan.**_

_You honestly trust this maniac?_ Jonathan thought to himself, rubbing the spot on the back of his head.

_**We shouldn't be the ones calling people maniacs, Jonathan.**_

…_true._

The young man nodded reluctantly, stretching out his quivering hand. "Alright," Jonathan smiled, hints of his lunacy peeking through his pearly teeth as Harvey grabbed his hand to help him up. "But if this is a trick…"

"No trick. I need some assistance, and you're desperate enough to help me when I ask you," Harvey said in a business-like tone, locking his grip with Jonathan's.

Jonathan sneered. Desperate? He wasn't desperate…

The man huffed as he watched Jonathan bolt to the opposite side of the room as soon as he was on his feet, splitting apart the blinds on the window, and peering down below. "Hey, Twiggy! What part of 'we-gotta-go' is not getting' through to you?"

"S.W.A.T. is due to arrive at any moment," Jonathan breathed, his lips so close to the glass that the window fogged when he spoke. He jerked his head around and peered at Harvey. "Do you have a way to get out?"

Harvey squinted as the spotlight of a helicopter passed over the window just as Jonathan shut the blinds, illuminating the room. "The front door was clear when I came in. Why not just go out through there?"

"Typical," Jonathan snipped as he pushed past Harvey. He inspected the sturdy wooden chair by the door and scrambling towards the hallway with the chair hooked around his elbow. "You come in here to play the savior yet you fail to have a plan."

Harvey scowled, following close behind the twiggy young man. "Typical. You're still an ass."

"Yet," Jonathan paused in the middle of the hallway and whipped around, squaring up with Harvey and pointing a bony digit in his face, "I'm an ass with a better way out."

"Oh yeah?" Harvey snarled. He was a bit shorter than Jonathan, but far stronger and much more intimidating. "And what's that, princess?"

"We. Go. Up." At those words, the young man raised his hand. He was tall enough to place the tips of his fingers on the ceiling, and leaned up on his toes just enough to push the tile up slightly. He worked his fingers a bit, focused solely on the task, and managed to shift the tile aside, revealing a space large enough for a person to fit through. Jonathan smiled at Harvey's disbelief. "I know this place like the back of my hand, Mr. Dent. When I was director here, I had to know every possible escape route. It was necessary since one never knew when a riot would occur. And I wasn't about to let one of my patients slip, nor would I be one to get locked somewhere with no plan B. After being stuck in here since my arrest, I refreshed my mind and studied every corridor, every doorway, every office, cell, and room."

"You need a new hobby, Crane," Harvey grunted when Jonathan turned his back on him. "So you were just biding your time? You could have gotten out of here at any second?"

"'_He that can have patience can have what he will_'," Jonathan murmured to himself as he brought the chair forward, positioning it below the space in the ceiling carefully.

"Fabulous," Harvey gave a sarcastic clap. "You think that up all by yourself, Confucius?"

"Actually no. Benjamin Franklin did the thinking for me." Jonathan glanced over his shoulder as he stood on the chair. "But I shouldn't have expected you to know that."

Harvey rolled his eyes and peered behind him. "Whatever. You go on ahead. Rache, come on, you're holding us u—"

"Waitaminutewaitaminute…Dawes is coming with _us_?" Crane sounded disgusted and glared through the darkness at a figure approaching. "Brilliant plan, Dent. You do recall she's an incompetent boob that will only slow us down, correct?"

Jonathan gasped and collapsed off the chair as Rachel's fist came from nowhere and struck him in the groin.

"Incompetent? Only because you got my stuck in this hell-hole Crane! You little worm…"

Harvey crowed with laughter as he stared at Jonathan writhing on the floor in mute pain. "Ladies first, Jonathan…you know better. Go on, Rache."

Rachel made sure to crush Jonathan's hand under her foot as she made her way onto the chair. There was a massive clash under their feet and Harvey cursed, leaping over Jonathan's body and helping Rachel up through the hole in the roof. "Hurry hurry hurry…the S.W.A.T. is already inside. Come on stop goofin' around, Crane!" Harvey barked.

Jonathan's face twisted in anguish as he forced himself to kneel, and finally stand to his feet, wobbling a bit. Harvey was already swinging himself up and into the hole, still yelling for him to hurry up.

Jonathan said nothing, biting his tongue for once as he scrambled onto the chair and pulled himself up with quivering arms.

_**If she doesn't get shot by an officer…I'll kill her myself!**_

"Put the tile back. Now which way out?"

Jonathan leered at Harvey "We go down the left, and since we are on the top floor, the rafters are higher, thus we can walk more easily. Oh, I hope you like rats. I see them scurry through the halls once in a while before crawling into the wall." He saw the look of distaste on Rachel's face as he stood to his feet and hobbled after the duo.

_**There better be one that gives Dawes the Plague.**_

_One can only hope…_

---------------------------------------

Talia sat on the long, L-shaped couch, fiddling with a nail file as she stared at the flat screen television across the room. She yawned, half of her hair flowing across her shoulders and the other half tied up in a simple braid. She had stopped the channel on a local news network, listening to a tragic list of events that occurred in Gotham that day. But it wasn't uncommon for people to get mugged, shot, or beaten around here, so she was quite indifferent to the newscaster until she heard something that piqued her interest.

"**_Breaking news in the Narrows; A power failure resulted in the S.W.A.T. being called to control any potential riots or escapes._**"

Talia froze in mid stroke of her nail file and stared intently at the screen.

"**_So far all but 2 inmates are accounted for, one female attendant and one male security guard reportedly injured in the escape of one of the inmates. Officials are also saying Batman was seen in the vicinity only minutes ago, and many are wondering if there is a connection between the masked 'hero' and the power failure._**"

Talia spat something in a foreign language and hopped to her feet, reaching for her cell on the coffee table beside her. She pulled her hair from it's braid and loosened the tie on her robe as she made her way across the room with the cell already attached to her ear.

It rang only once before a gruff voice answered the other line.

"Get ready, meet me downstairs in the lobby. We have trouble at Arkham."

"_Arkham? You think it's Crane?_"

"I don't think. I know. But he's not important now. The bat is there…so get the men ready. We need to leave immediately!"

She clapped the phone shut and stared at the window. "Clever, Mr. Crane. But you managed to flush out the bat. Perhaps I won't need to kill you just yet."


End file.
